


even lovers drown

by velificatio



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Cannibalism, Child Murder, Hybrids, M/M, Multi, Racist Language, Rusalka, White Imperialism, meiji period, mermaids/mermen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 50,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2750306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velificatio/pseuds/velificatio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>We are more than flesh can hold.</i> 1903 Japan, in one villa there are no heroes to be found. Love has made them monstrous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> This fic owes a great deal of credit to grizzly_bear_bane, sibilant, and tamat9, all of whom gave me the encouragement to write this and grizzly in particular helped flesh this concept out as well as providing beta services. My deepest thanks to you all. There are a few lines throughout this fic lifted from the film Inception itself.

_"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed."_

**The Little Prince** , Antoine de Saint-Exupery

 

 

 

 

In the dawn marking their first century of life they name themselves. For thirty-six thousand, five hundred and twenty four days before this, they hold no title. They are the Nameless, immersed in a stream.

Being nameless does not trouble them until a human in the prime of manhood first speaks to them.

Under the moonlight over Tripoli the man dips bare feet into the sea surrounding its port. Night paints the waters of Mare Nostrum blacker than Nameless’ hair, obscuring nearly all of him. Still the swimmer’s eyes fixate. He’s dressed in large clothes colored navy and red. His soul appears to weigh heavier than the fabric hanging from his frame.

“I know ye’ve watched me, often. Swimming in ‘dis godforsaken sea,” he says. “Won’t have much to watch soon lovely; Me ‘an the mates cast off with _Nassauw_. Need ta work on more proper speech ‘till then, I’m told.”

Nameless says not a word. True they watch the sailor often, the way his body moves when he swims. The way water ripples over a defined chest and powerful arms; skin tanned, peppered with scars. Water is drawn in towards that form much the same manner as Nameless.

They wonder if ocean salt absorbs beneath the flesh of humans. If the pulse of the current thrums with their breaths like Nameless' own.

“I’ve watched you watching; never speaking. ‘S fine, I suppose. My mouth blabbers ‘nough for the both of us.” With a chuckle the human’s head ducks, a smile crinkling his cheeks. “Your eyes though, they speak. ‘An dance better than port wenches. Ye could set any man dreaming with those eyes.”

The man grows bolder, though only for a moment, leaning forward as if to pitch himself off the docks into Nameless’ arms.  He stops short.

“Ye should have a name to go wit’ those jewels beautiful,” the man says. “From songs of sirens ‘n pagan gods. It should be sang from heaven to the deepest depths of sea. Rather, your face lies beneath my breast, within my heart. And I won’t share your image with another. ‘s mine you see. Perhaps when me business ‘s done I’ll return and name you myself.”

On day thirty-six thousand five hundred and twenty-five Nameless watches this man die.

They follow _Nassauw_ from Tripoli to Morocco, where their human is condemned into another realm.

“ _You shall be kolhaled for the crime of betraying the Republic and your brothers in arms to Barbary corsairs…May God have mercy on your soul…_ ”

Submerged a mere league outwards Nameless looks on as for a moment the man’s silhouette becomes eclipsed by the rising sun when he is thrown overboard. In a grim spectacle the men aboard remain silent as they pull on the line they’d tied him with, dragging him from bow to stern.

As his body collides with the ships keel, slicing over barnacles and ocean growth, Nameless reads the man’s agony on bloodied waves. Feels life drain, then end in a lone throb.

Their human’s corpse is near shredded as it’s abandoned to the sea, severed at the waist. Nameless claims that torso as their own. Although they search down through reefs and coral, a head evades their grasp. 

Within three days they fully consumes their sailor. A languid feast the likes of which none before can compare.

What they devours that first day is a title alone.  

Nameless no more.

He is now Arthur. And every body of water, the lakes, rivers to the sea itself flows through his veins.

 


	2. Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a visual of Arthur in full form see here: http://decodilapidation.tumblr.com/post/166041467732/vetsalka-arthur
> 
> On Arthur's biology: In merfolk full form he has claspers and an oviduct (incorporating both male and female shark anatomy). In human form he has breasts and a penis while his oviduct is hidden within his anus as a separate orifice connecting up to his uterus, and produces lubricant. When he is not sexually aroused a special mucus seals the opening, which the lubricant is able to break through during sexual intercourse.
> 
> Hover your mouse over the Japanese for the English translation. 
> 
> Once more, a huge thanks to grizzly-bear-bane for betaing this.

 

 

Departing from the _HMS Albion_ Eames felt as if he’d stepped through the doors of one world into another.  He was used to the thick industrial smoke and heavy air following morning rainfall in London. Here the air tasted crisp on his tongue, clean almost. Having traveled past the China Station Eames had viewed many intriguing sights. He’d anticipated his destination to be an engaging experience, exciting even. Like visiting a dream city. 

What he found in Tokyo was a city still in transition - part of it running on electricity, the other still dependent on steam power. He was intrigued by the veritable shanty of bizarrely misshapen buildings clamored on top of one another and other buildings baring distinctly superior western influenced designs melded with that of the orient style. They had a train station-steam powered still- but no automobiles lined the streets. Eames could easily parse out where William saw the mystique and exotic otherworldly appeal of this island he’d spoken so often of. However the atmosphere he encountered was heavily guarded, full of hostile glances.

It put a damper on his enthusiasm to view a new culture, to dissect the people and their customs. He’d spent half the day wandering before he found someone who spoken a lick of the Queen’s English or any language he cared to learn. By then his head ached more from frustration than any overabundance of fresh knowledge.

Even so it was not a complete waste, however. He’d always been a quick study. By sunset Eames knew the greatest currency he’d have on this island was his rank and the higher, the better. In that regard William had been a blessing. His rank as a Lieutenant had been the sole reason Eames managed this con.

“Most of our people are stationed in China.” His superior’s tone had implied regret at that particular fact. “Your assignments here are merely to ease individual transitions required by the new expansions to our treaty. Each of you shall be assigned to oversee the affairs of an Imperial minister.” He’d paused, grave as he looked over them. “You are expected to obey your orders and conduct yourself with the utmost reserve. Be mindful of the possible consequences each one of your actions might provoke. The latest ink on the Anglo-Japanese Alliance is only freshly dried.”

The Japanese were commissioning several battleship vessels from the Royal Navy. In such unsteady times one had to be assured their aims were clear and funds were going exactly where they should be. So it fell on Lieutenant Eames to aid and oversee the Minister of Finance through the development. The English had gained the Emperor’s tentative blessing for these collaborations but bad blood lingered between the two countries and the potential for failure was high.

Eames kept those numerous factors ever present in his mind as he was escorted to Minister Saito’s private villa. Located in what was designated the Saitama Prefecture it was one of the most opulent buildings he’d seen by far. A towering, imposing wooden gate opening to reveal a sprawling garden with two large trees on opposite sides of a diagonal walking path, their branches curved and pink petals fluttering from each tip. Intricate flower designs lined the pathway; Eames couldn’t help but slow his pace to admire their beauty. He crossed over a short bridge, peeking over the rails to see orange fish swimming in the pond underneath. The villa appeared to be six interconnected houses, ivory in color, with four dark columns supporting the main entrance.

 Ships were never quickly constructed so his assignment would be more extensive than his fellow officers. The long months ahead weighed heavily on his mind and already he craved the crisp gray shores of his native Ireland. But he’d cast his lot, his future, in this con. The blood on his hands seemed fresh as a new day though William had been dead for a year now. Eames had adapted to life as a naval officer, he could and would manage this. Judging from outside appearances at least, Eames felt more optimistic about enduring his stay in relative comfort.

He was growing more confident in his prospects even as he brushed aside household staff, grimacing at their dialect and foreign words. This man had running electricity throughout his home. Two guards led him through strange hallways, through sliding walls which led from one room to another until they came to what Eames observed to be a personal office.

There he stood face to face with the man he’d play shadow to. A man who, with one look, appeared to see all of Eames’ character and potential. And found not a single trait worth favoring.

That rejection burned far more than it should have.

 

 

*

 

 

Four months into his assignment Eames stepped out of his room, once more avoided and unacknowledged by all but Saito’s guards. They came to him in a panic, mouthing off in their native tongue and already Eames felt weary. By now it should have been well known that he’d not the slightest idea what they were saying. He began to push past them then paused mid-stride. Understanding dawned on him as he looked around. All of them were in the hallway, instead of their respective posts.

Saito was nowhere to be seen.

A lesser man might have thrown his hands up in agitation. However in spite of how unsettled the villa’s staff typically were by his presence, Eames was not a man prone to easily losing his temper. On the contrary, he took great pride in his ability to adapt to sudden changes. He joined the guards in their search. They scoured the streets while Eames searched the fields. It was easier to move around alone without attracting attention than surrounded by armed men.

Eames’ search for his charge ended along the banks of the Arakawa River. Saito’s villa wasn’t far from there but losing sight of the Minister he was ordered to supervise night and day did not speak well of Eames’ capabilities as an officer.  Should the wrong person see him wandering about, it would be disastrous.

He was musing, fuming on said risks as he made his way towards the embankment. There was an all too familiar fog enveloping the area but Eames caught sight of a wooden boat, a wasen as Saito liked to remind him, floating out midway in the water. Its oars shifted with the current but otherwise sat motionless and the vessel tilted slightly towards the left.  There was something; no, _someone_ in the river.

He moved closer. Though dusk’s fog was a heavy blanket around the Arakawa Eames did not have to strain much to identify its occupants.

 _My lord_ , he thought.

It was Saito in the boat and there was a woman in the river. A beautiful woman; her hair was wild with black waves that spread down the length of her upper back into the water. From what Eames could see, she was nude, all slim pale limbs, sharp cheekbones and broad shoulders as she rested one hand on the edge of the boat. He’d swear her nipples were rosy buds. A dimple formed in her cheeks when she smiled.

Her facial features struck a chord in Eames. She looked like she could be from his home country. Why would such a woman be in Japan now?

Saito was bent over the edge of the small boat; his were lips a slow drag along the wet skin of her other hand. Eames had never been a man easily prone to faith but he recognized Saito’s touch and gaze. It spoke of reverence, devotion. Akin to receiving one’s first communion. 

His other hand seemed hesitant as it smoothed slow through her hair, tucking some strands behind prominent ears. This bared the long line of her neck to Eames before she inclined her head, tracking the movement of Saito’s fingers. Arousal began to stir within Eames. She was a nymph if ever there were such creatures.

And yet she startled when Saito’s hand caught her chin. Eames could see the tremor shaking Saito’s shoulders as he moved in further, deliberate, and pressed his lips over her own. Her shoulders rose, fingers clutching the boat. Eames was so engaged in the movement of her pert breasts as she jerked back, he scarcely noted the inhuman growl echoing around him.

Until he heard a crack then a thunderous splash. No sooner than he could blink, the boat was suddenly overturned and bore in its side a lengthy hole. In the river he recognized the thrashing dark sleeves of Saito’s suit immediately.

Eames cursed, his legs in motion at once. Figures he’d let his charge slip away once and chaos occurs. Just as he reached the mossy riverbanks the woman resurfaced, heaving Saito’s chest above water in a firm grip. The breadth of his attention ought to have been focused on Saito but Eames was more struck by how well she swam towards him. Confident, graceful even while bearing the added weight of Saito. It was as if she might have lived in water all her life.

Thankfully this day he had luck on his side. Saito was coughing as the woman pulled him towards land. Just near enough for Eames to take ahold, drag him out of the river to lie on his back. Eames pressed down on Saito’s chest a few times, until he was releasing ragged breaths along with his sputtering. All the while Eames kept the woman in his line of sight.

She moved no further, which raised confusion along with alarm. There was no reason for her not to come up as well.  Rarely did women forced into prostitution fail to seize an opportunity to escape. Eames tensed, letting Saito be for a moment to turn and fully face his companion, one hand drawing his pistol out. She merely blinked. Eames could swear the edges of her mouth quirked briefly. Which did nothing to assay his suspicion. He could feel the water’s cold through wet patches forming in his uniform.  It must be near frigid to someone only half dressed if clothed at all, regardless of how often she likely went without clothes, or perhaps she was used to the cold; dallied with the Minister this way on more than one occasion.

“You. Out as well.” For emphasis Eames motioned with his gun. “I won’t tell you twice.”

Still she did not waiver. However her eyes narrowed, gaze flickering between Eames and Saito. Through the receding fog Eames could see her eyes were a strange and compelling mixture of bright gold with darker shades of indigo. And she was not completely bare as he’d earlier assumed. Faintly discolored from rust, two silver manacles hung from her broad shoulders, connected by another slinging across the top swell of her breasts and repeating the pattern downward to disappear where the river rose up to her navel. Like chain-mail almost, save the spaces between interconnected manacles were too wide to serve adequately as protection. They were also sparsely decorated with, from what Eames could see, were small white rocks of differing sizes beaded through the chains. He wasn’t close enough to know for certain what those ornaments were.

Though his forefinger laid heavy on the pistol’s trigger, he hesitated. 

His shot was aimed slightly to the right of her to frighten and demonstrate that he was serious. Eames’ intentions, however, were moot point. The bullet’s path was lost in an abrupt splash of water as, incomprehensibly, she threw herself backwards. Propelled up out of the river. Eames startled to grasp that her abdomen did not lead to slender limbs but instead a…a _tail_?

Where there ought to be a pelvis, the swell of feminine hips, instead Eames saw only smooth, fish-like skin. A canvas of black with hues of blue and yellow, like her eyes. There were twin gold fins branching out at the top of her tail, four more settling lower towards a large black fin that curved inward. The right side was larger than its left. Similar to a shark; Eames had vivid flashbacks to his thankfully rare encounters with the fabled _Prionace glauca_ in the waters surrounding Ireland.

She flipped twice before retreating further into the river. Eames was too busy struggling to process what he’d seen to take another shot.  Now the fluid way she’d swam made sense. She _was_ indeed a part of the stream itself.

It took several moments before he trusted himself to speak. “Bloody hell! _What are you?_ ”

He got no response. Eames spared a brief glance back to Saito for some answer but the Minister appeared dazed. His breathing was normal now but his eyes were unfocused. Eames cursed and shook him a bit. In the river she stayed out midway. Yet her stare was sharp, watching every move he made as he placed his pistol back into its holster and hauled Saito up to lean against his chest. Clearly she wished to come closer but withheld in Eames’ presence. Understandable considering his actions; or perhaps, the hungry curiosity he knew colored his gaze.

Nevertheless he called to her again, asking, “Can you talk?”

Once more he found himself under her scrutiny. She tilted her head upwards, eyes narrowing when they swept up Eames’ form. A beat, and it seemed whatever she saw made her mind up.

“Yes.” Her voice was deep, a rich tenor unlike any woman Eames ever encountered before. She had a unique accent, far closer to American than Eames’ native Irish or English.

There was a melodious quality to it. Eames shivered and against his better instincts, leaned forward.

Saito sputtered, coughed up a bit more water. Eames couldn’t contain his sigh as he struck his back a few times.

His actions made the woman more uneasy. Finally she swam forward until her hands could settle in the grass and mud though she made no move to rise. But she was right in front of him now and Eames was hard pressed to resist the urge to draw closer.

“I am Arthur,” she said to Eames, eyes fixed on Saito.

Eames frowned at that. Then chuckled, “ _Arthur,_ eh? Interesting name for a woman as beautiful as yourself.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed, thin lips set into a scowl. Even so, Eames did not miss how she edged further up on the embankment.

“Once I knew a man by that name.” Arthur said. “He was beautiful as well. His name is now my own.”

Eames might have been misreading but he’d swear there was a challenge in those eyes now. He shook his head in apology, stretched a hand out towards Arthur. “Forgive me then, I meant no offense.”

Arthur did not take his hand, instead gave a small nod before returning his attention to Saito. “Bring him to me, please.”

“Considering what’s just happened you’ll have to forgive me for being a little reluctant to do that.”

“He is not well. I can help him.”

Eames might have smirked under different circumstances. “Well you, whatever it is you are, caused his illness so-”

At last Arthur met Eames’ stare, glaring like a dagger’s glint. “Mouths should come together to give breath, life, not steal another’s air away into oneself,” he said, “but for humans they’re for thirst, to consume. He startled me.”

“Is that your elegant manner of telling me no one’s ever kissed you before?”

“Not for life, no.”

Eames relented, but had his pistol ready once more when he laid Saito down beside the river. Arthur did not thank him though Eames was well used to such decorum by now. He watched Arthur lift himself enough to lean over Saito’s chest while remaining submerged. Wouldn’t have been able to look at much else in fact.  The careful way in which Arthur lowered himself, shoulders down first, sweeping his hair out of his face before cupping Saito’s chin held Eames in a thrall. Eames tensed, taking in the fingernails nearly as long as his pistol’s barrel with newfound wariness. They began to retract, fascinatingly, until they resembled cuticles closer to a human’s.

Arthur’s other hand cradled the crown of Saito’s head as he kissed him, pink lips widening enough to allow Eames full view of  black saliva dripping out of his mouth. To his shock and mild chagrin, his arousal was unabated.

As he drew away Arthur licked over Saito’s lips then closed them, let his mouth drag down the Minister’s throat, pausing to inhale deeply at his pulse point. His stained lips left ebony smears on Saito’s neck as he slid further back into the water.

“He must rest for a time,” Arthur said. “But he will be himself once he wakes.”

Eames flattered a moment; he didn’t want to leave this intriguing creature and he certainly wasn’t looking forward to bearing Saito’s weight for the trek back to his villa. Nevertheless he had a job to do and people out searching. Arthur set the wheels in motion by dipping down fully into the river. Eames waited a moment, until it became clear he would not resurface anytime soon.

In the grass Saito had begun murmuring broken, incoherent phrases. A clutter of English and Japanese.

“Alright then lovelorn explorer, up you come,” Eames sighed, hooking one of Saito’s arms over his shoulders to pull him up. “Let’s get you back”

Leaving the banks Eames felt an uncomfortable sense of loss. He frowned.

Foolhardy, nothing more and nothing less. He’d known that thing for less than an hour. Hell, Eames didn’t even know _what_ he was.

Not yet at least.

 

 

*

 

 

Eames was reunited with Saito’s guards soon after stepping off grass into dirt streets. Immediately the sight of their Minister pale and clinging to Eames sent them into a fury. They surrounded Eames, shielding Saito from public eyes, and in hushed whispers directed towards him, they spoke what Eames assumed to be questions regarding how Saito came to be in such a state. He shook his head, impatient, as a horse coach was hastily summoned.

“He fell,” Eames explained repeatedly, handing Saito off to be ushered inside the carriage. When at last he received a curt nod from Daisuke, the guard who often served as Saito’s translator, Eames nudged aside another moving to enter the vehicle. He would be damned if he was made to walk back to the villa.

Typically Eames took advantage of such moments to observe the regular occurrences of Japan's citizens. Unable to understand their native tongue, Eames more often than not found himself left to his own wits and devices in daily activities. Often he longed for ingredients to make an English morning tea though fortune had smiled upon him; beer appeared to be a culturally transcendent beverage. On occasions when he would accompany Saito on a clandestine outing to a kabuki theatre, apparently a low brow place for a man of the Minister’s standing to frequent, the drink was readily accessible.

Eames’ mood however did not lend itself to people-watching and not entirely due to the scene at Arakawa. There had been a planned venture to the theatre tonight but undoubtedly Saito’s condition ended those prospects. The kabuki house was perhaps the only place Eames looked forward to visiting.

It was of little consequence compared to the answers he lacked concerning Saito’s pretty fish-boy.

Arriving at the villa Eames was swiftly relegated to a spectator’s position. Saito’s guards were quick to shepherd him from the carriage, somehow able to navigate through the small crowd of house staff that had gathered at the entrance. Hoshi, one of Saito’s eldest guards, spoke what was without question a command and the onlookers rapidly began resuming their duties. Eames caught more than a few suspicious, disapproving glares aimed in his direction. He bristled under the weight. Not a single word had been said to him, as if he were but a troublesome gust of air.

Saito was taken to a private quarter, his private physician trailing closely behind Hoshi. Eames frowned, ducking his head slightly as he went towards his own room. No use following only to see the door closed in his face. He’d give Saito a few hours to sleep off the unplanned morning chill and soak, let Arthur’s strange liquid do its purported work.

If he were to be kept waiting, there were other matters he could attend to in the meantime.

In his room, maddeningly sparse in décor and devoid of a desk, Eames retrieved from a bookshelf his stash of paper and the binding holding his routine logs and reports. Most days spent with the Minister involved him tallying the amount of yen the Japanese were dispensing to the English and confirming that when converted into pounds it was the correct sum owed. Despite having always had a good touch for mathematics nothing about his work remotely engaged him. He'd spent a week with Saito learning the countries system of finance alone. 

He sat cross-legged on his futon, using the files to support. High time he wrote to his kin in Ireland. It had been well past a decade since he’d seen them in person. All of seventeen years old, still a lad green by several regards, he’d left those shores for the promise of more work and better fortunes England was said to contain. What he found was a harbor of stationery and class; so many opportunities withheld from him, a poor Irish fisherman’s apprentice.

But Eames had gotten lucky; he found work moonlighting as a bread baker, and even an apartment willing to take him on as tenant. Provided he split the rent with a fellow lodger, William Kensington. They shared a room, and bed, eventually in ways far more intimate than society permitted. For a time Eames felt content, terribly close to happy.

Then it all disintegrated before him.

First there was the con, an opportunity for him to achieve greater pay if he played the role of a naval recruit. Then there was the threat and a broken bottle and William collapsing in an alleyway, blood spurting off shards of glass imbedded in his neck. In the end all Eames had left was a lie he adopted and fled from the dank streets of London to her Majesty’s Royal Navy. A lie which became his life, the only future holding freedom for him.

By the time Eames signed his name to an eighth letter, for his sister Eunice, it was mid-afternoon. Activity in the villa had quieted but on occasion he heard the brush of brooms swept through halls, idle chatter from a pair of women. Six hours had passed, more than enough time for Minister Saito to have rested and recuperated. Eames’ knees ached when he stood; he longed for the same bureau and chair his charge was afforded. It was moot point however, in three months he’d be shipped out of this country for good.

Eames made his way through the villa carefully, relying on his memory to know which doors should under no circumstance be parted. Once one became accustomed to the unusual interior divisions it wasn’t difficult to navigate the villa. Saito’s private quarters were the furthest room to the south, allowing the Minister a full view of the outside scenery and a peek at his lavish strolling garden which housed blue and white wisteria trees and ornate rows of yellow tulips. Eames had walked with him through the garden only once; their stroll ended abruptly when he commented on the uniqueness of “ _oriental_ ” designs and Saito paused mid-step, leveling him with a look so severe Eames fell silent in the face of it.

“ _Japanese_ designs, Captain Eames,” Saito had stressed. “Never use that word again in my presence, it is highly offensive.” He’d never asked Eames to accompany him to the gardens again.

There was a certain leeway Eames had to afford the Minister due to the nature of his assignment and the political climate in England. He’d held his tongue after Saito’s sharp rebuke but felt resentful. Dressed down by a man not even from his country, of his station.

When it came to the matter of the strange creature who lived in Arakawa, Eames could allow Saito no such levity. His questions _would_ be answered.

Even so he cordially knocked on Saito’s doors and announced his presence before sliding the walls apart. He made sure the entryway was closed completely after stepping inside.

Saito was seated at his desk, hunched over slightly, scribbling on some writing paper with his back cast to Eames.  A position which often greeted Eames, the casual lack of respect it implied never got easier to bear.

“Where is he from?” Eames began. No use dancing around the topic. “What is he? And don’t bother pretending you’ve no knowledge. One urgent contact to my superiors is all that’s required to ensure the Japanese don’t receive single warship from the English.”

With an ease and speed which belied the extent of Eames’ far from empty threat, Saito set down his writing brush. He stood and pulled his chair out then sat back down, this time facing Eames. A position so informal Eames was unable to mask his surprise.

“Arthur came here from elsewhere; as you and all your lot have,” Saito said, holding Eames’ gaze. “However, he did not arrive bearing war ships and demands; only himself.”

Eames rolled his eyes. “As thorough an explanation as that is, I’m afraid I must ask for more fine details.”

Saito stared at him for a moment, the corner of his mouth appearing dangerously close to a smirk. After a pause he continued with words more carefully enunciated than before. “He refers to his kind as vetsalkas; he was sired by a wandering Vetehinen of Finland and a water nymph who dwelled within a Polish river where she’d been drowned. As soon as he’d learned to swim on his own he left for fresh waters. He has been travelling ever since. Sometimes following the paths of ships which catch his eye.”

There was a frank pitch to Saito’s tone and Eames did not detect any telltale hints of deceit, though one would be hard pressed to find a convincing lie when he’d already seen the vetsalka in all his scaled, finned glory. His inquiry was not yet finished however.

“How did you come to know him?” Eames asked.

Silence was his response. Prolonged and hostile; Saito sat still as a statue, his expression unreadable. It was Eames who lost patience, shifting his posture to lean against the wall behind him. “Saito-” He started only to be cut off by a raised hand.

Saito began with a sigh. “The Arakawa is a source of quiet meditation for me. I’ve sat along its banks often. Five years ago I took an evening reprieve there in the company of two guards. That was when I first saw Arthur, surfacing but a few feet from where I stood. He watched me, swam closer to the riverbank and my guards thought him an assassin. A threat. As they were attempting to force him out of the water, I shot them both.” Saito paused, inhaled slowly. “Arthur did not swim away and I kneeled before him with my handkerchief and wiped their blood from his face.”

When Saito sat back Eames startled as he often did from the sudden shift from his stillness to movement.

“He never asked for my intervention, nor my company. He didn’t have to. I had felt drawn to that river years before I saw his face. Compelled by an unseen force. Yet like a dream half remembered, details were never close enough to grasp.”

Eames took in Saito’s words silently, contemplating. The notion that Minister Saito, a man who seemed to possess an infinite reserve of self-discipline and keen intellect would execute two of his trusted guards after beholding one man for the first time rattled him. But then, Arthur was no human at all was he? Considering that, perhaps it wasn’t such an extreme possibility. How many great men risked their fortunes or lives in the search for enlightenment?

Saito clasped his hands together, fingers loosely entwined. “When I saw him…with a single look I knew what I had found was something deeper than desire, stronger than purpose.”

Eames clicked his tongue, thumbing over his chin stubble. “And you kept seeing him. I can’t say it isn’t understandable but, five years? Considering what happened today I’d think the lack of reciprocation would have been quite clear by now.”

“I…had never tried such an advance before.” Saito’s eyes flickered away briefly. It was as close to embarrassment as Eames had ever witnessed from him.

 _That_ was difficult to understand.

“You’ve been meeting him for five years,” Eames said in disbelief, “and you’re just now plucking up the courage to kiss him? Perhaps after a decade you might convince him to kiss you back.”

He smirked at the thought but his amusement was not shared. Saito stood from his chair, moved to stand in front of Eames. It was a clear assertion of whom was trespassing currently and any humor Eames felt drained.

“Affection cannot be seized, Captain Eames,” Saito said. “It must be won and nurtured. Today I frightened Arthur but he spared me nonetheless. There is no need for me to wait anymore.”

 

 

*

 

 

Three nights following their conversation Eames found himself rather stiffly roused from his bedding by a servant boy.

"Anata,” the boy said. The lantern in his palm shook and he was fretful as he gestured towards the guard at the open entryway. Eames scoffed, dragging his uniform trousers on under his night shirt. No use dressing further. What the bloody hell could Saito want at this forsaken hour?

Daisuke, led him to Saito’s quarters. Leaned up against his desk for once Saito was facing him when he arrived. Small progress, though Eames felt certain it had more to do with the time than any new respect he might have gained in the Minister’s mind.

Saito waited until Daisuke left, sliding the door shut behind him. He greeted Eames with a small nod and no apology for waking him so late.

“Tomorrow I intend to seek him out, Captain Eames,” he said, full of quiet self-assurance, “to bring him back here. I have the necessary provisions already in place.”

Eames shook his head, not bothering to cloak his doubts. He didn’t need to ask whom Saito was referring to. They both knew all too well. “What makes you so certain he will come out?”

Saito no longer faced him. He’d turned his eyes and his body towards the horizon outside, where the moon shone bright as a beacon in the sky and the night air felt thick, heavy on Eames’ tongue.

“He will.” Saito’s voice had fallen so soft Eames strained to understand. “He must.”

It was dawn when they ventured from the villa. Eames traveled on horseback beside the coach carrying Saito and three of his senior guards towards their destination. A certain reluctance weighed heavily on him. How far would Saito go to ensure Arthur joined them? He’d seen the passions of devout men lead towards ruin before. Neither was he certain of Arthur’s whole potential for violence. No doubt the creature was dangerous, had smashed a sturdy boat into splinters with a single blow from his hand. What other powers did he hold? Eames had no desire to become a casualty of misplaced affection and brutal rejection.

Yet in spite of his own reservations, Eames had not breathed a word of protest. If he wanted, he could put a stop to this. He had the leverage of his station.

None of that mattered. He was a man the same as Saito. At his core he knew only of his own flesh, his blood, and of hunger. And he had caught a glimpse of the unknown, the extraordinary. Eames craved, as he had never before, a morsel a taste of Arthur’s presence again. 

So he rode through the lightly occupied streets, the sun rising on his back. And he stood close, but aside while Saito’s guards stayed by the coach, their backs turned. From his point further down Eames continued glancing back up to the road, in case any passing citizen might happen upon them.

They waited in silence, Saito venturing closer and closer to the coastline. Morning current was peaceful, calm. They waited on; nothing emerged. For a moment Eames worried he might have to retrieve the minister from the river a second time; he walked like a man at last arriving home.

Relief swelled within him at the unmistakable sound of splashing water. Eames turned away from the world outside and saw Arthur’s head peeking out amid the stream. There was a smile on his face as he swam towards them.

Eames refused to move. This, this was not his moment. Arthur’s smile was for one man alone. He instead played witness to the scene unfolding.

On the mossy banks of the Arakawa River, Saito knelt before Arthur.

“Will you come with me? Out onto land?”

Saito’s words were carefully spoken, voice hushed. One of his hands reached out, palm upturned, beckoning the vetsalka. Eames’ muscles drew tense, either with dread or anticipation as Arthur merely stared, contemplating. His eyes traveled upwards, to the heat of Saito’s gaze. He did not flinch from its intensity, rather whatever Arthur found there seemed to settle his decision.

 Arthur dipped back under water and that sharp, unusual pang of loss struck Eames once more. It was abruptly swept away when after a brief moment Arakawa’s current began to shift, quicken. The hum of its waves grew louder. Several of the guards straightened up but they held their positions. Saito himself did not move, his palm remained in the air. Empty until a lithe arm rose up from the water and Arthur’s slim hand grasped Saito’s. Eames stood, shaken as the rest of him resurfaced as well, carefully climbing out of the river with Saito’s assistance. Gone were the scales and multicolored fins of his tail. Now there was only a long stretch of pale legs leading to normal, human feet. He was nude save for that peculiar metal garment.

He was stunning.

Aside from the lengthy span of black locks crowning his head Arthur bore no hair. Even at his groin where Eames was used to encountering a tuff of curls or waves, his midsection instead led to further bare skin and a flaccid cock. Eames inhaled deep before looking away, placing his focus on Arthur’s face.

Chains clinking softly, Arthur’s expression was curious as Saito began to wrap the deep indigo robes they’d brought around him. He hissed, touching the fabric with a frown, fiddling with its sash. His nails were longer than Eames remembered, still black and pointed like talons. They caught on part of his robes, ripping them until Saito took his hands.

“You must be clothed Arthur, to avoid attracting attention,” Saito explained, and Eames watched in quiet captivation as Arthur’s nails began to withdraw, sinking further and further into his fingers until they resembled the primly groomed hands of a society lady.

Arthur nodded but stopped Saito from covering his hair.

“It must remain wet,” he told him, voice urgent. “If I become fully dry I will weaken.”

Saito’s villa had, to Eames’ knowledge, hot springs and three bathing areas. Keeping Arthur’s skin and hair perpetually wet wouldn’t be a tall order. It certainly wasn’t an unappealing one as far as Eames was concerned.

The guards who’d accompanied them were only given a short glimpse of Arthur as Saito ushered him in into the carriage. Eames could see the multitudes of questions in their gazes but they held their tongues as the carriage began to move. Eames climbed back on his horse for the trek back to Saito’s villa.

When they arrived there, Saito exited the carriage first, holding the door open for Arthur who stepped out barefoot, apparently choosing to forgo the shoes brought for him. Saito led him past the gates with an arm around his, Eames and the guards following in tow. Their pace was a leisurely one, Arthur’s eyes spanning the exterior of the villa with great interest. Eames could hear Saito whispering into his ear where he’d leaned in close, but was unable to make out the words. Once they entered the porch and Saito deposited his shoes into a cupboard, retrieving a pair of slippers from a nearby rack, he called out. Gradually the household staff gathered in the main hall, peering at Arthur with mild curiosity and clear wariness.

Arthur glanced at Saito then withdrew his arm. Facing the staff he bowed at the waist, saying, "Hajimemashita? Boku wa Arthur desu. Doozo yoroshiku".

Eames’ stomach clenched as he took in the careful shift to approval in many of the staff’s expressions. Even Saito’s eyes were alight with pride. "Yokudekimashitayo,” he said fondly.

Saito spoke a short moment before dismissing his employees back to their duties with a wave of his hand.  Everyone began to filter out but a young boy emerged, carrying a small washbowl. He knelt before Arthur, reaching for his right ankle which was given after a reassuring look from Saito. Both Arthur’s feet were swiftly washed of any dark from outdoors but he stepped back, hissing when the boy tried to dry them. Saito gave glared, sending the boy on his way then taking Arthur’s arm in his again. Eames caught his eye as he began to lead Arthur through the hall, making it clear to Saito that he wouldn’t be so easily set aside this time. The quiet disapproval Saito expressed so often colored his features but Eames didn’t care. He followed close behind them while Saito’s guards exchanged their shoes for slippers and took up their individual posts.

They entered a room Eames recognized as one of Saito’s bathing chambers, a large square tub resting in its center and a wooden bench along the far right wall. Saito nodded towards a beige folding screen off to the left, painted to depict a pair of tigers in a forest. Arthur grinned at him before stepping behind it. Eames’ breath quickened as Arthur began to disrobe, a provocative silhouette of his form visible through the screen. Chains dangled when Arthur raised his hands and removed his garment, the curve of his breasts swaying with the action. As he turned Eames saw the dark shadow of his cock shifting and felt at once indescribably aroused.

He chanced at look at Saito while Arthur emerged and for the second time Eames felt like an intruder. There in Saito’s eyes danced the fires of a man who stood on the edge of achieving the impossible. Water was poured from a small pail onto Arthur’s bare form. Saito reached a steady hand out to brush his hair aside, exposing the slope of his back. Arthur hummed, eyes at half mast, his hands sweeping over himself. Streams of water cascaded down him, dripping steadily off his hair and breasts.

Tension and arousal hung heavy in the air. Eames did no more than look on as Saito helped Arthur step into the wooden tub. Frustration at being so close yet just out of reach plagued him. He should leave, but against his better judgment Eames remained in the room. His hands curled into fists, clenching around electric air and the image of Saito’s nimble fingers combing through the locks of Arthur’s hair.

 

*

 

By dusk Saito had returned to his villa, accompanied by Captain Eames, as he always was while tending to official business. Duties could not be easily dismissed; the position of Minister of Finance was not one which allowed for extended times of leisure. His country was in a state of transition, caught between heavy veils of tradition and the lure of the Western world. After decades of exposure to the West their customs, technology, even architectural designs remained under increasing pressure to change. For his part, Saito found this exposure a double edged sword. In the struggle to adapt so much was being lost or cast aside. The beautiful kimonos and komons he'd grown up wearing were less popular, replaced by suits, corsets and dresses which bore more similarity to what women in England wore. Even his lavish villa sat on the boundary between East and West. A new, English style dining room had recently been installed, with chairs and silverware brought from France. The setting was a novelty but one far more unwelcome than the creature who awaited him inside his abode.

Arthur, elusive and fascinating, who had brushed soft lips over Saito’s palm when informed he must depart for a time. Who’d floated silently in Arakawa, all his attention on Saito’s words as he taught him the language of his homeland and later, so much later, read him haikus and spoke of life outside the stream.

Eames took his leave once they reached the porch, Saito sparing a glance at the sight of his scuffled shoes trekking across the floor. Pity the captain held no interest in learning the customs of his country that weren’t deemed necessary to his task. As he made his way through the main hall Saito calmly surveyed the staff, informing his cook Akio he’d not be attending evening meals as he passed the daidokoro. Apart from Eames and his guards, there were few others to cook for. Although Saito’s family was one of the most prominent and respected in Japan, their numbers had dwindled. Assassinations brought down his father, disease claiming his mother, while his uncles passed serving the Imperial army during Saigō Takamori’s rebellion. His younger sister Kaori, her three sons and husband, were the last of Saito’s line.

The feeling of dislocation, which had plagued Saito for decades, only intensified with each loss. For all he’d felt adrift among his kin there was a certain sense of shared oaths and blood which had bound them. He was never so alone than when they began to pass. His name and station held him up to a high degree of standing among the general public. He had a foot in each separate world, knowing he never truly belonged in either.

In Arthur he’d found solace in the presence of one even more displaced than himself.

Arthur was waiting for him inside his private quarters, sitting on a cushion and zaisu with his ankles crossed to the side. On the small table in front of him he had a scroll open and Saito recognized the brown crinkled edges and calligraphy immediately. It was one of the sheets containing the first haiku he’d ever read to Arthur. Seeing him, cast in soft lamp light stirred Saito. He stepped closer towards Arthur.

"Ogenki desuka?" Saito asked, watching him closely.

Nails scratching over his komon, Arthur nodded. "Hai, genki desu".

Unlike before Arthur was not tearing the fabric. Still his hands moved in a restless manner.

“You do not like the clothing?” Saito asked, shifting into English.

Arthur peered at him over his shoulder, fingers starting to tangle in the wet locks of his hair. He shook his head. “It is my nature to be bare.”

Saito eyed the pile of silver and bones resting in Arthur’s lap. “But your garment?”

“Is worn in remembrance,” Arthur said. “At times I encounter humans who leave me in wonder. Their purity is striking. After I’ve had them I take their teeth as mine.”

Gently Arthur lifted his chains, thumb smoothing over a chip of white. His expression was of soft adoration. In the years he’d spent seeking Arthur’s company Saito had done more than speak. He observed as well. All the teeth held in pearls and manacles were too small to have come from adults.

It troubled him less to look upon them than it had at first.

“After you devoured them, you mean,” Saito said. “That is how you honor them, then? Do you wish to honor me as well?”

For a moment Arthur appeared angry by his implication, brows knit tightly together. Then another emotion surfaced, one that surprised Saito. Hurt.

“If I were to honor you I would take something of far greater value than your teeth Saito.” Arthur slowly rose, garment left on the floor. “But I do not wish to feed off you. There have been many opportunities for that. It is not what I desire.”

Saito could respond to such words in no other way but one. “Tell me your desire then.”

Arthur wet his lips, hands untying the sash of his komon. Saito watched, avid as he let the fabric fall. Silky wisps of emerald and black tumbled down a body Saito knew was smooth as newborn flesh, yet firm. Defined. He followed the trail from Arthur’s neck, to breasts moving in a gentle tempo with his breaths. His slender waist and the small dip of his navel, then down to rest in the hairless valley of skin that led to his sex. Arthur was erect, the crown of his cock peeking out from foreskin.

“For you to face me this way. In your natural state,” Arthur answered. “And for us to know one another, wholly.”

Outside the sun had fallen far enough only a faint glow of daylight lit the room. The neglected candles of his lamps had long since begun to wax and wane. Such fading shades cast Arthur and himself partly in shadows. As he began to undress, Saito was at once struck by the dynamic play of light and dark across both their flesh, of the sleeves of his suit tumbling into a black sea; slashes of brightness illuminating his bare chest and hips. Orange hues shone on Saito’s arms when he moved forward. The light was cast unevenly over Arthur’s outstretched hand, while his long fingers spread out into of darkness. Along the walls Saito’s silhouette followed him into what remained of the sunlight then beyond to where Arthur stood, in the clearer gloom of his quarters. Behind him laid only the color of night.

Interlacing his fingers with Arthur’s, Saito led him towards the futons, where his candlelights burned their brightest. At the foot of them he raised both his hands and ran the backs of his fingers along Arthur’s cheeks, brushing the wet strands of his hair behind his ears. He needed to see this creature’s face, all of it bared for him alone. Arthur’s eyes were alive with an almost youthful curiosity and a desire so honest and so seldom centered on Saito, for how he stood as a man rather than a symbol.

His breathing grew sharper as he continued to caress. Saito’s thumb brushed Arthur’s moist lower lip, making his mouth part. Three fingertips gently ran over his left brow, then his eyelid when it closed. Leaning forward, Saito kissed him there as well. As if their bodies had combined a hundred times before he touched him like a lover at last returned. He massaged through Arthur’s hair in slow circles until he moaned, soft, and began to touch him in turn.

Saito gasped, sharp but not alarmed, at the feel of Arthur’s incisors nipping his chest. Right on the surface of skin hiding his heart. Blood began to trickle from the wound and Arthur latched on, the flat of his tongue tenderly licking up the fluid, drawing a moan from Saito.

"Yuukuri onegaishu."

His hands cupped Arthur’s head as he suckled. He bore his throat; stared at the candlelight until black spots were peppering his vision. Whispered, pled, "Watashi o shōhi suru ", and knew that he was lost.

 

 

*

 

Two days following Arthur’s arrival at Saito’s villa, Eames caught him in private. Or rather, parted the doors to his quarters open and found Arthur seated on the floor, reading through his military correspondences.

Eames’ hand went for his gun on instinct and he cursed himself inwardly for such a predictable reaction. It was not in him to be so easy to read. But the sight of his hand resting on a loaded pistol did not phase Arthur, who merely spared him a glance and arched his brow before resuming his reading.

“Curious about naval dealings Arthur?” Eames asked, tone deceptively playful.

Arthur set down the letter he’d been reading. “Among other things, Captain. This is quite a task for a man so recently promoted. Though you don’t appear to favor it much.”

“So you’re here to pry into my work and gain some understanding?” Eames couldn’t help but bristle, eyes flitting to the small shelf where his family letters were kept inside a book. To his surprise, Arthur smirked at him.

“Of course not. Why sneak through your letters when I can ask you about yourself?” Arthur turned to face him fully. “I was only curious about how much navy services have changed since I last met a sailor.”

Sensing an opening, Eames sat down in front of Arthur. “Well its _quid pro quo_ with me, Arthur. I’ve my own curiosities I’d like settled.”

“Sounds agreeable enough.”

It was a tad unfair for Eames to pose his first question as less than an inquiry but then again, he’d never been one to play fair.  “You’re not from here. I wasn’t expecting you to speak Japanese.”

That drew another quirk of Arthur’s lips. “I noticed you don’t seem to speak the language? Saito taught me.”

Eames gave a curt nod, refusing to expand. “And you taught him English?”

“No,” Arthur said. “He’d learned on his own.”

That felt like a reprimand all its own. Rubbing a knuckle over his lower lip, Eames wasted not a moment shifting the subject.

“I imagine your kind doesn’t age quite like us. How old are you?” He asked.

Arthur tilted his head. “I’m two-hundred and three.”

Eames nearly whistled. He’d figured Arthur to be well older than he appeared but not quite that old. “Well then, darling, you’re quite fetching for your age.”

The “darling” was a misstep, an instinctive flirt he chastised himself for utilizing as soon as he said it. However yet again, Arthur took him by surprise. He did not appear disapproving or perplexed, rather his expression could be termed indulgent. Eyes keen and calculating.

“You’re a very interesting man, Captain Eames.”

Petty though it may be, Eames responded instantly with, “Is Saito interesting for you as well?”

“He is…unlike any man I’ve ever encountered,” Arthur said, no longer looking at Eames. He ran two fingers over his lips, an absent caress. “My kind ventures out of water only for mating cycles. My feet have never touched soil for long. But when he asked I could not refuse him.” 

Eames frowned. “But you refused his kiss.”

“He startled me.” Arthur’s voice took on a defensive edge. “And my lips are toxic. I can control the amount of poison dispensed but cannot keep it from being transmitted altogether. I did not wish to harm him. As I said, he is different from most humans. He touches me deeply.”

The last words were spoken in murmurs. Eames felt as if he’d taken confession, intruded into a well of truths he was not welcome to witness. His fingers twitched and he frowned, eager to divert the subject once more.

“May I ask,” he began, with an admirable display of hesitance, “do all vetsalkas look like you?”

“Yes, all of my kin appear this way. We mate with humans to breed. I’ve a womb which remains in place regardless of what form I take.” Arthur’s hand moved down onto his lap, stroking over where his cock lay. “This ensures a strong possibility of conception should I lie with a human female or a human male. Should I conceive I must return to the waters, and to my true form, in order to birth my offspring.”

Eames chuckled, his grin nothing but lewd. “You’ll have to be sure to inform Saito then. Wouldn’t want to cut your visit short with an unplanned addition.”

There were several reactions he anticipated that comment garnering, none of them being Arthur’s left hand lashing out and scratching his uniform. Eames recoiled too late, and looked down in shock at the large rip in his jacket. His hand was back at his pistol but Arthur just laughed, deep, almost teasing. And Eames, damn it, was charmed 

Arthur’s smile was all sharp incisors. In fact, from what Eames could see, his entire mouth held nothing but rows of fangs darting out from his gums. Drawing his hand back, Arthur studied the fine tips of his raised nails as he said, “No, returning to the water is inevitable for me. I cannot remain on land forever, even if I keep myself wet. However if you were to provide a surplus of my meal regimen I would be able to forestall having to return to the river for a time.”

Eames felt the hairs on his neck begin to prickle. “And what pray tell does this diet consist of?”

Arthur paused, searching his face. For the first time he appeared hesitant to answer. Eventually he sat back. “Merfolk residing in the upper depths of waters feed primarily on humans.”

Eames blinked. “Ahh, there’s always a catch isn’t there?”

Instinctively he moved to put more distance between himself and Arthur, settling back against the doors separating his quarters from the hall, only stopping short of leaving the room entirely, because a greater part of him was overcome with more questions than fear. Why had he been spared before, or just now? Eames could not determine Arthur’s intentions apart from keen sense of curiosity and he wouldn’t be alive having lived the life he’d lived if he were one to readily indulge another’s inquisitiveness about himself.  

Or if he took a chance on opportunities doomed to failure.

Pistol drawn and laid in his lap, the barrel pointed squarely in Arthur’s direction, Eames felt more comfortable continuing their exchange.

“I’ve answered several of your questions now, and you, only one of mine,” Arthur coyly said. “Captain Eames, I believe it’s my turn. How old are you?”

Eames responded with an instant, outright lie. “I’m thirty-four.”

In truth, he was two years younger but it seemed important to emphasize an older age with Arthur.

“Quite old to still dislike your life in the military so much. To be so lonely,” Arthur mused, looking at Eames strangely.

Pity wasn’t in Arthur’s eyes. If it were Eames would have laughed and cut a scathing remark in the face of it. No, Arthur gazed at him in gentle confusion. Intellectually, Eames understood; he did not know all the details of Eames’ life. That a life settled in marriage with children held no appeal to him, that he’d made his living as a liar and a thief, and in the end had little within his grasp earned honestly or able to hold close. For a time he thought he could have had the latter with William; that naivety could no longer stand. This was his life, on the run, always under a guise or persona. How little he spoke honestly of himself in his own letters to his family. It was a small mercy his father had long succumbed to the devil’s brew; still his reprimands were a constant in the far recesses of Eames’ mind.

Any remaining lightheartedness he’d kept vanished as Eames turned his head. Cast his gaze to the weathered novel holding letters from his kin. He had not realized how fiercely he missed them until he came to Japan and found himself an outcast in all settings. Even with Arthur there was a distance which held them apart. It was a bitter surprise, to learn there was a part of him which craved a measure of acceptance after all. He did not wish to stand against the world itself.

A hand touched Eames’ own. He looked back at Arthur, startling. The vetsalka had moved without attracting his attention. Arthur’s other hand cupped his pistol, fingers stroking over the barrel and Eames’ hand. Their faces barely apart, the gentleness in Arthur’s eyes shook Eames to his core.

“I don’t wish to hurt you either. You are unlike most humans as well, Captain,” Arthur said.

Eames nodded but also moved away from Arthur, his heart pounding. It was safer to remain at a distance, apart from an unknown reaching too close, too quickly towards him for comfort.

 


	3. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a visual comparative of Arthur in full form versus his land form see here: http://quaintcarnography.tumblr.com/post/117613780908/arthur-full-vetsalka-form-and-land-vetsalka-form
> 
> On Arthur's biology: It's similar to a traditional ABO omega but with some major differences. In but merfolk form and human form he has breasts and a penis. In full merfolk form he also has a separate vagina but in human form its hole is hidden within his anus as a separate orifice connecting up to his uterus, and produces lubricant. When he is not sexually aroused a special mucus seals the vaginal opening, which the lubricant is able to break through during sexual intercourse.
> 
> Hover your mouse over the Japanese for the English translation.
> 
> Huge thanks to grizzly-bear-bane for betaing this!

Arthur devoted his fourth day on land to further charting the residence he’d dwell in.

The villa was a sprawling complex of interconnected rooms and halls; on a scale nearly as grand as the Katsura Imperial Villa itself. He was told such opulence could be afforded from an ancestry such as Saito’s. His family traced their lineage back centuries, to a fabled Sengoku era clan of samurai.

Seated at a chabudai, a plush cushion tucked underneath him, Arthur kept running his fingers over a painted handscroll depicting the death of Saitō Dōsan at the hands of his own son in battle. He was as captivated by the scroll’s texture against his skin as by the tale played out in splashes of black and red.   

Several times he’d hear the scamper of Saito’s servant boy Hachirou passing by the study; hushed murmurs from the pair of female housekeepers. Of course a guard was stationed outside the room; already Arthur felt tired of his shadowy presence. As a whole the household staff regarded him with wary curiosity, none daring to approach him outright.

It mattered not to Arthur. He was content to observe them from afar for now. There were only two humans he had any great interest in immediately interacting with.

Arthur had anticipated his passion for Saito growing once he left the river, but Eames, Eames was unexpected. His youthful spirit, his very manner drew Arthur to him. He had gone to him to learn if that charge the Captain first struck at Arakawa was fleeting. It had not been. Arthur felt at once validated and surprised. Only Saito and the lovely sailor whose name he’d taken ever stirred him in such a way. But while several decades had passed between days spent watching the sailor swim and his encounters with Saito, this sense of want for Eames occurred so closely to the latter. The pull wasn’t as strong, but it was there.

Perhaps he was adapting to their world after all. If he could be touched by three souls not of his own kind, could he also experience the life they knew?

With Saito and Eames attending to their business at the Ministry, Arthur was left to his own devices for a time. Restrictions were fairly lax, though he was not allowed to venture away from the villa yet even in the company of Saito’s guards. Arthur yearned to explore more of the vast new world surrounding him but he understood it would take time. He had waited centuries to attempt life on land. There was a reserve of patience within him he would have to draw from.

Rolling the scroll back into its dowel, Arthur tied a silk chord around the paper and set it aside on the table. He was fresh from his first soak in the villa’s hot springs and water still dripped from his hair he’d pulled back. Arthur felt a sense of serenity only intruded upon by the constant presence of Akira, a younger guard Saito charged with watching over him.

As he left the study Akira quickly began to follow him. Arthur turned towards him, barely repressing his scowl. Instinct told him to growl, force the human into submission by demonstrating his potential danger. Arthur felt his sharper incisors, tucked away within his gums, begin to extend and cover his human appearing teeth. But he could not afford to be so easily ruled by his nature. He pushed back against instinct, retracting his fangs.

"Bakkusutē kudasai“.” Arthur said instead, careful to keep his tone even. He went left down the hallway, hearing little activity in that direction.

As grand as Saito’s villa was in scale, he remained a man of minimal, although fine, furnishings and décor. Arthur paid close attention to everything he saw. Painted folding screens separated areas in smaller rooms, two earth ovens and stacks of wood sat in the cooking area, and on tall wooden stands throughout the hall there were statues and ornaments Arthur recognized from his time spent occupying waters outside Japan. A tiny white cup painted with flowers, placed atop a similarly decorated plate. A glass effigy of a bearded man with his arms outstretched stood next to a thick book. There was a bowl filled with aged coins, gold and silver in color with etchings Arthur recognized from when he swam in the Mare Nostrum.

“I have laid beside a constant wanderer,” Arthur whispered, touching the coins. He’d known, often Saito had told him of travels outside his homeland. Seeing further, though, brought a smile to his face.

A room on the right side of the hallway drew Arthur’s attention. Unlike the others no sliding door stood between Arthur and itself. Instead at the entrance hung a thick layer of blinds. Fingers curving around bamboo and silk, Arthur parted the barrier and slipped inside.

What he found could only be described as an altar.

There was a large black cabinet centered in the room, its doors left open. Atop its polished wood stood to the left a glass bowl filled with rice, on the right-hand corner lush pink colored flowers peeking out through green leaves sat in an ivory vase. Arthur touched the grain with hesitance, rolling a small bundle of rice between his fingers.

His attention was then pulled towards the gold centerpiece the items stood in presentation to. A shrine that seemed to tower over Arthur himself, as if its doors were held open in an invitation for him to climb the steps away from every world he knew. Shadows emphasized the designs of swirling clouds, arches and waves carved into its golden interior. There was a small gilded statue in the middle, a slim figurine whose hands were placed on its breast, the sleeved arms flowing outward like robes which fell just above its bare feet. Part of Arthur wished to feel the effigy’s texture as well but the smiling, peaceful expression etched onto its face felt far outside his grasp. He instead found himself brushing the pads of his fingers over a framed photograph placed on a stone pedestal in front of the shrine.

 _The lady of the house_ , Arthur thought, taking the frame in his hands. Even contained on worn paper, creased and browning slightly at its edges, held apart from him by a layer of glass, her stare was penetrating. Arthur saw a kindling fire in her eyes and the subtle curve of her mouth reminded him of lines drawn in snow at the tip of a blade.

Yet still he could detect softness in her features, where a pale cheek curved with her cheekbone and the round edge of her chin. She looked so human to him in a way that made Arthur draw within himself, conscious of his being, his nature. No doubt Saito’s hands held this photo often, its weight did not rest lightly in Arthur’s grasp.

Was it love he saw in minute lines of fingerprints smudged on the glass? Grief?

Arthur looked at the photo with his lips parted, brows arched in silent inquiry. Trying to understand, to feel what he could see, sense a human must feel holding such a significant object. Holding a symbol of love. He tried to navigate beyond the bridge of his inhuman self and instincts but there was a fog separating him from the other side he knew lay through its blinding haze. While sentiments such as loss, affection and sorrow all registered in his mind as he considered the lady, Arthur did not feel anything past hunger. For nourishment, for something more than his nature dictated he must endure. But such hunger was a constant.

In the absence of an emotional connection, he felt his focus waiver. Felt himself reflecting on Lady Saito from a distance growing with each passing moment.

 

 

*

 

 

Being a native Irishman and having lived in London for years, Eames was well used to the chillier end of climates. There would be occasional stretches of heat but little which prepared him for the springtime in Tokyo.

Or, more specifically, days during the spring in Tokyo spent habitually settled in a corner of Saito’s kitchen.

Given his time in a London bakery, Eames wasn’t entirely unused to constant cooking heat. It was quite another matter though, when there was no backroom base for creating bootlegged beverages for him to escape to. A fresh plume of oven smoke stung Eames’ eyes and he hunched further into himself, bringing his daily log booklet up closer to shield his face.

He had certainly not taken to frequenting the sweltering area by happy choice. Since their conversation in Eames’ quarters he’d found himself once more in the position of being silently observed, and on some occasions when Eames failed to elude him well enough, approached by Arthur.

Of late they were interacting quite often. When Arthur’s time wasn’t occupied with Saito that is.

Over a fortnight into the vetsalka’s stay at the villa and Eames was all too familiar with the sound of their numerous couplings, throughout the expansive interior of the home. The most unrestrained, animalistic sounds were made by Arthur, which was no surprise to Eames. Deep, guttural moans and breathless gasps, growls that set Eames on edge in a manner he wished not to be the case. Saito himself was near silent save for his panting and, much to Eames’ ire, the murmured words of English and Japanese he would exchange with Arthur.

_“ "Anata ga michite iru?” Saito’s voiced filtered through the doors separating his study from the small room Eames was dining in._

_The words were spoken in a low rasp, accompanied by the periodic smacking sound of what Eames knew precisely was flesh meeting flesh._

_Arthur’s response was a drawn out moan. Eames clutched the wooden spoon in his hand harder. Trying in vain not to imagine where the darkened shades of bruised skin would appear so fetchingly on Arthur when next he saw him._

_The last time they’d spoken Eames had willed his eyes to remain on Arthur’s face as he told him he’d be departing with Saito soon, resisting the temptation to stare further down were a sinuous line of purple marked the swell of Arthur’s breasts,peeking out through a part in his loosely tied robes._

_“ "Hai, ahh please.” Arthur was panting. “Motto, Daichi…kudasai.”_

 

They didn’t spend all their time fucking, but since Eames was now forced to hide out in a kitchen more often than not to avoid listening in on their trysts, it was small comfort.

Most of Saito’s guards found the noise amusing, though Eames noticed a few household staff frowning or exchanging worried glances as they went about their business.  In any case, whenever Saito and Arthur emerged their reactions shifted to respectful silence.

Eames noted the contrast between the guards and staff with great interest. When he’d first arrived in Tokyo, he’d assumed the Japanese attitude towards homosexuality would be as rigid and intolerant as those in the West. As such the handful of sexual encounters he’d had here were done covertly and never with the same individual.

But Eames had yet to clear from his memory the instance where he’d attempted to follow Saito to his private study to continue their conversation on the increased sum of cash the English were demanding for Japan’s war ships. They’d come to just outside Saito’s personal study and one of his guards, expression impressively neutral, parted the sliding door for them.

Arthur had been laid out on his back beside a small table, sprawled naked atop a pile of purple robes, his wet hair and skin shimmering in the candlelight as he read from a book titled in Arabic.

All Saito had done was nod at the guard with a small smile, then turn to Eames, informing him they would have to continue their conversation later that night.

Because Arthur frequented the bathing quarters and outdoor springs daily, Eames had seen him nude on more than one occasion. He’d no doubt that by now everyone occupying the villa had at least once. Yet there were no local authorities storming Saito’s home to arrest him for gross indecency with another man.

Eames found himself reconsidering desires and past actions that he’d already wished would cease plaguing him. It was not helped by the fact that Arthur appeared determined to seek out more details about him, through direct and indirect means.

Often he came to Eames in his quarters and they would speak for hours. About the inner workings of the Royal Navy to Arthur’s time in the Caribbean. Eames even taught Arthur how to play some pub games with coins he’d pocketed from Saito’s display.

_“I do not understand how one could enjoy this.” Arthur said after his third coin narrowly missed the tea cup Eames had placed atop a pile of his books across the room. “It feels rather pointless.”_

_Eames couldn’t help but laugh. “Sure you’re not saying that because you’re losing? Take this as an important aspect of human life you should know darling: if one consumes enough brandy any game becomes great sport.”_

_His coin landed squarely inside the cup though to his credit, Eames had been regrettably starved of fine brews for months now._

_Arthur grimaced. “Why would one wish to indulge in a drink that diminishes their higher reasoning?”_

_“A little indulgence can be a great reprieve from the strain of daily life darling.”_

_“I am beginning to understand better.” Arthur frowned as his fourth coin once again missed its mark. “Why my kind eats yours.”_

_Eames thumbed his chin, grinning. “Pray tell then, what does your kind do entertain themselves?”_

_Arthur turned his last coin, watching the gold glint off the room’s lamp light. “We come together in a large group and sing close to the shore. A hymn to attract multiple humans into the water. After we’ve collected a satisfactory number we guide them out to deeper waters then swim together in a circle around them. As the humans are submerged in the tide each of us gathers one...”_

_Truly there was only one way this could end. Regardless, Eames listened on, only moving a step away from Arthur._

_Arthur tossed his final coin. It clinked of the edge of the teacup and landed on the floor. “Then we feed.”_

_“Even your play is bloodsport.” Eames’ tone was flat, concealing his fascination. “Why am I not surprised?”_

He learned Arthur could be a right riot, laughed with his entire body, and had no taste for cigarettes or brew. That he was blunt in ways humans were taught to conceal with mannerisms and courtesy.

In turn Arthur wished to know more intimate details about Eames, and was unrelenting in his pursuit. The focus at once thrilled and rattled Eames. Apart from being uneasy with such scrutiny, in many aspects Arthur was still dangerous to him.

Groaning, Eames blinked heavily before scrubbing his palm over his face. Since early morning the cooks had been roasting a variety of fish and the increasing heat had Eames sweating profusely. _Bugger them both_ , Eames thought, rising from the wooden bucket he’d perched himself on. He’d take his chances tallying up the month’s incoming sum of yen in his quarters.

Eames tucked away the paper in his breeches, making his way out of the kitchen to more than a few relieved glances. He walked through the hallway into the library, then parted the doors to a small dining area and continued onward. Three rooms away from his quarters he startled to hear his name spoken at a very close range. No more than a few steps behind him.

“Captain Eames, a word?”

Eames rounded, uncaring as to whether he’d collide with the person behind him, only to find in the seconds he’d taken to turn more distance had been put between them. Arthur didn’t appear smug as if he’d bested Eames in some fashion, which did nothing to lessen his irritation and unease.

“I take it no one’s ever taught you how unpleasant humans tend to find someone sneaking up on them?” Eames grit out.

Arthur shook his head and shrugged. Twenty days and already he was adopting some of the worst mannerisms of Saito’s guards. “Actually I’ve been told some consider it a valuable skill to possess.”

It was but Eames wasn’t about to favor that truth over his indignation. “How long have you been following me then?”

“Since you entered the library.”

That would mean Eames had gone into a room and exited it without sensing Arthur’s presence and had remained oblivious far longer than he’d prefer. Eames fought to keep his outward reaction minimal, though inside he was reeling.  He had to swallow once, _hard_ , before responding.

“You left Saito to play quid pro quo with me darling? Haven’t the guards been able to satisfy your curiosity now that you’ve finished your reading?”

Three days prior Eames had observed some wetness on the front cover of one of his novels, which were otherwise in the same particular positioning he’d left them in before departing with Saito. He’d a habit of also stuffing letters between and within each of his three books in a certain order, and they too appeared undisturbed. But Eames was sure of it, Arthur had been prying through his belongings.

Arthur tilted his head, seemingly unconcerned with Eames’ accusation. “No, they’ve not, but they are not you. I’d like to speak with you.”

Eames grimaced. “Mind telling me why?”

“Must we do this every time we meet? I told you from the start, you’re unlike any human I’ve come across. That has not changed. ” Arthur stepped in closer to him and Eames stood his ground despite his discomfort. “And you remain curious as well. Your interest carries a scent. I have come to know it well.”   

If by _interest_ Arthur was referring to the desire Eames felt listening to him sing for Saito whenever they laid together, or simply watching Arthur move about the villa, let alone being in the same room with him, well the notion that the vetsalka could smell his arousal this entire time was discomforting to say the least. Eames seemed unable as of yet to keep even footing with Arthur. That did not sit well with him.

Eames grasped for a greater amount of control, pointedly refusing to acknowledge Arthur’s assertions, “We can talk Arthur, but not in my quarters this time. Let’s walk through the villa’s gardens, yeah?”

Arthur nodded with a small smile, those damned dimples showing in his cheeks. Then, to Eames’ surprise, he moved forwards, circling behind Eames to come to stand beside him. The action, and their abruptly increased proximity had Eames’ stiffening. He straightened himself up more, chancing a glance at Arthur, who was watching him.

“Been in this city for months and I still get lost sometimes in this place.” He lied. “Why don’t you lead the way?”

They started off towards the villa’s gardens, Eames making sure to trail behind, giving the impression that he really had yet to familiarize himself with the home’s layout. He’d no ambitions of running a con on Arthur so Eames didn’t hesitate to observe him indiscreetly. Arthur still walked in a rather provocative manner; his arms occasionally swaying in motion with his hips. Recalling how Arthur had swam earlier and his tail, Eames supposed if one were to put a pair of legs on a shark they’d move much the same way.

Arthur was wearing a silk black kimono with butterflies patterned onto it. In two weeks Eames had watched him enough to learn he did not fancy clothing of any sort. His sash was usually wrapped tightly around him but often his collar would slip off his shoulders, the fold open enough to allow glimpses of bare flesh or the bones and chains of his garment hidden underneath. Eames’ gaze lingered on the curve of Arthur’s arse, where the ends of his hair swayed and shifted. Felt a familiar surge of want coil through him.  Resisting the urge to reach out he shoved his hands into his pockets.

Arthur remained barefoot as they stepped through the back porch.

Off towards the left Eames caught sight of the long white strips of fabric that separated one of Saito’s quarters from the gardens blowing in the early afternoon air.

Arthur followed his gaze. “Saito prefers to meditate alone.”

“That’s what he’s up to then?” Eames clicked his tongue, amused. “Here I’d thought your morning rutting had him thoroughly exhausted.”

Arthur only smiled, reaching up to finger a few white hanging petals of a wisteria tree. He leaned in, inhaling their scent with a curious then blissful expression so unguarded Eames felt charmed. At once he understood completely why Saito kept Arthur close.

“Like myself, Captain, you are very young and very far from the place of your birth.” Arthur said, looking about the garden’s entry way. “And you’ve yet to tell me anything about Ireland.”

With a slight grimace, Eames strode a few steps ahead of Arthur down the gardens winding path. Arthur caught up with him quickly, though his attention remained mostly fixed on their surroundings as they made their way towards a small wooden bridge crossing over a pond.

“We all have topics we’d prefer to keep private.” Eames finally replied. “I’ve noticed you have yours as well.”

He turned at Arthur’s snort. “Fair enough Captain, though I would tell you if I’d rather not speak on something then dance around a response. What did you want me to tell you?”

So much it took Eames aback, how intense his interest in this creature was. He had a question at once.

“Why did you leave Poland?”

“My mother and I were not of the same kin.” Arthur leaned over the rails, staring at the orange fish swimming about. “While she was able to remain content within the lake where she was created, I could not. There has always been a desire within me to see more.”

Eames kept his reaction understated when Arthur turned to him, voice frank. “You might have felt the same when you left Ireland, but I don’t wish to presume. So, why did _you_ leave?”

Cutthroat apparently was Arthur’s natural strategy in all aspects of his life. Damned if it didn’t spur Eames’ excitement every bit as much as it got under his skin.

Nevertheless he wouldn’t delve deeply in his answer. “In Ireland if you’re born to a family known for a certain trade it’s expected you yourself will grow to occupy that station. That would never satisfy me, so I left.”

What he did not say was how suffocating all those years of presumption and conditioning had been for him. How his father had fought his growing fits of rebellion with all the remaining strength left in his will even as sickness took him. Eames had left on the eve of his death, while his family was too distracted with their mourning to pay close attention to his whereabouts.  Left behind his mother, four brothers, two sisters and for a year pretended he never entertained the notion of looking back. It became too much eventually, so his letter writing began.

Arthur appeared to contemplate his words considerably. He stood just off the bridge now. Eames could feel the focus of his gaze on him, though he did not make eye contact.

“So we are similar in a few unexpected ways then Captain.” Arthur’s tone was gentle. At Eames’ nod he continued. “You know, among my kin I am considered very young.”

Eames did not hide his smile, grateful for the shift in subject. “Well in this world darling, going off looks alone you’re a proper bachelor.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed. “What is a bachelor?”

“Those of us young, lively men yet to be consigned into marriage.”

“I see. Are you a bachelor Captain?”

He sounded so childlike in his inquisitiveness it drew a laugh from Eames, hands stuffed in his pockets, his posture much more relaxed now. “Yes, and present societal laws withstanding, forever so.”

At least in truth he was. Outside that realm he maintained the lie to his family that in England he kept a wife, beautiful as any Irish lass.

Arthur’s attention was now focused on a blossom tree beside the garden pond. He plucked a flower with a touch Eames could only describe as delicate, smoothing his hair out from his face as he sniffed the bud. Its scent seemed to intrigue more than repel Arthur and Eames watched him breathe in a second time, his other hand idly playing with his hair. An image which left Eames shaken from the memory of another youth, nearly as enrapturing as the one now before him.

He shut his eyes against the recollection, scrambling for a distraction. “How does your kind handle affairs of the heart darling? Is there perhaps a wedded vetsalka you’ve yet to inform Minister Saito of?”

“Merfolk never keep only one mate. Our nature is to traverse across many bodies of water. As such, often we bond with many of our kind throughout our lives.” Arthur knelt beside the pond, placing the blossom there then allowing his fingers to run through the water. He brought his hand up to his mouth, let the droplets clinging to his fingers wet his lips, and sighed. “A man in your station has traveled to numerous lands. As far as Mare Nostrum perhaps.” His gaze became sly at that. “Saito, too, has ventured quite far. Is the custom of mating not the same for your kind then?”

While they both knew precisely how Arthur possessed knowledge of Eames’ time stationed in the Mediterranean, Eames found himself honing in on a potential area Arthur remained in the dark on.

Though he was a thief, a liar by trade, he hesitated to press his advantage. For whether he was familiar with the concept of monogamy or marriage, Arthur was still the lover of Japan’s Minister of Finance. Eames knew his position was one of relative security, his wellbeing paramount to the English and Japanese negotiations.

It would not be smart, however, to overplay his hand so readily.

“It varies.” He said, watching Arthur sit in the grass, crushing petals underneath him. “Some pledge themselves to only one for the rest of their lives. Others are not as steadfast as that, and take many lovers much like your kind. Some do both at once.” Eames moved to sit down beside Arthur. “I’ve found that the more power a man possesses the more likely he is to keep several lovers at the same time.”

Arthur tilted his head, interest in his eyes. “Do you keep many lovers then, Captain?”

“I’ve slept with several people.”

“But,” Arthur’s eyes narrowed, far too keen for Eames’ comfort. “You’ve not kept them?”

Eames sat back on his hands with a frown. “I didn’t say that did I darling?”

“What you left unsaid did.”

Arthur was no longer looking at Eames, instead once more leaning towards the pond, dipping a hand into the water. His legs were crossed and Eames had a perfect view of sunlight warming one Arthur’s inner thighs, catching on his collarbone.

“You’re a rather quick study.” He stalled. “Still getting used to that.”

“I learned early humans speak in many languages. Silence is a language for you as well.”

It was a gust of spring breeze that stole Eames’ response from his lips. Once more he fell silent in the face of what was being painted before his eyes. Branches swayed with the wind, a small flurry of cherry petals cascading from their home to rest on himself and Arthur. Most of them clung to the vetsalka’s tresses, though one wayward blossom found its way to Arthur’s cheek. As Arthur’s hand moved to brush the petal aside Eames shifted from spectator into action, reaching a hand out towards him.

He stopped short as Arthur met his gaze, nothing in his body language protesting Eames’ course of action. But again, Eames hesitated, setting his hands back into his lap.

Arthur watched him quietly for a moment then said. “You want to touch me.” It wasn’t a question.

At war with himself, Eames nonetheless met Arthur’s stare unflinchingly. His jaw clenched and he did not move. Were Arthur any other man he fancied, he’d likely respond to the subtle inclination of his body towards Eames. Had he not fallen twice before, have the fruit he’d tasted turn bitter on his tongue and nearly lost himself to its poison-

Arthur touched one of Eames’ hands, took it in his own, guiding it towards him. “You will need to be more active this I believe.” He said, dry, nearly a tease. 

Uncrossing his legs, Arthur placed Eames’ hand on his thigh. When Eames ran his thumb over the soft skin he sighed in contentment, wetting his lips.

It was more than Eames could bear to resist. He leaned into Arthur, dizzy with his lust, and pressed their lips together.

Eames’ vision swam but he responded eagerly nonetheless, opening his mouth at the press of a warm tongue. Arthur's hands cupped the sides of Eames' face, careful to retract his claws even as he lost himself in their kiss. His mouth had a tad salty, sweet flavor, which left Eames salivating and compelled him to push forward, lick into him, seek out more wetness until he was sated. Like the liquorice dispensed around the very ship which brought him here, distinctive and thirst quenching.

 

Eames felt his entire form shudder, a steady warmth rising from his toes far up to draw a deep flush from his face. A moan, low and hungry slipped out of Arthur, wove its way further into his senses.

 

And Eames _burned_.

 

It was not such a challenge to believe then, that those lips were laced with venom.

 

He pushed Arthur’s legs further apart with renewed urgency, his hand sliding up to cup Arthur’s balls. Eames fondled them gently at first, drinking in Arthur’s soft sighs as they continued to kiss. Then he squeezed.

 

Arthur gasped into his mouth, whimpering when Eames repeated the action before moving to stroke his cock.  Lips sucking wet kisses along the line of Arthur’s throat, Eames ignored the bruises already there, casting any thought of the man who’d left them further out of mind. Fingernails scratched along his scalp, just enough to sting, to make him shudder.

 

Christ, even slick as it was, Arthur skin felt hot to touch. Like machinery. Just as he’d burned Eames, he was aflame himself. And Eames, Eames had been the one to set him alight this time.

 

The top of Arthur’s kimono fell further open when Eames took ahold of his sash, loosening it. In the warm afternoon, sunlight shone off his exposed breasts, flickers of gold catching on his pink nipples. Eames bit back his groan at the sight, feeling his cock throb. Arthur caught his wrist again, moving his hand down further from his cock to press on his arsehole.

 

No doubt softened from his morning tryst with Saito, the flesh of Arthur’s rim yielded to Eames pressing his finger inside. As soon as he’d penetrated Arthur Eames found himself muffling his moan into Arthur’s breast. He was _wet_. Soaked and tight, clenching around Eames. Swirling his tongue around a nipple, Eames suckled on those supple tits as he thrust his finger in deeper, crooking it up, stroking Arthur from the inside. And Arthur took it beautifully, falling back to lie in the grass, his thighs held wide open and trembling. Eames followed him down, covering Arthur’s mouth with his free hand when his gasps began to grow too loud.

 

He looked up to see the confused expression on Arthur’s face at Eames quieting him but there was no objection to his actions. Instead Arthur’s hands cupped his tits, pressing them up and together for Eames to attend to his nipples in short order. He bit at one, then the other, lapping at the peaked nubs. It was while sucking his own bruises into the underside of a breast that Eames added another finger, longer than the first and paused when he pressed up against something strange.

 

It felt like there was another hole inside Arthur separate from his passage.  Eames pushed on it, felt a spurt of wetness on his fingers and Arthur’s cry against his palm. Even as he shuddered at the sensation, Eames took his mouth off Arthur in confusion.

 

What he saw made his breath catch.

 

Arthur’s face was flushed, his eyes shut tight and brow furrowed. But it was not a look of pain. No, Eames had seen such an expression on many men before, but few wore it as intensely as Arthur. Ecstasy. He might not know what he’d found inside the vetsalka but he was well practiced at adapting to surprises.

 

“What’s this then?” Eames teased, twisting his fingers up and _in_ , breaching Arthur’s second hole. “The reason you’re so wet? Oh,” He gasped at the tightness of the channel, the slick pulsing around his fingers. “Yes Arthur, I think it is.”

 

Arthur was writhing beside him, his breasts bouncing prettily. He’d grabbed a fistful of his own hair, tangling it in his grip and he rocked with Eames’ thrusts. His tongue lapped at Eames’ hand, pants beating hot on his flesh. Eames removed his hand when he felt Arthur try to speak.

“Its m-my,” Arthur’s eyes rolled back when Eames shoved his fingers in harder. “Ah! F-for mating… _Eames!_ ”

Eames covered Arthur’s mouth again quickly, dragging his fingers in a brutal singular rhythm. In, out, in until Arthur was shaking all over, a glossy sheen of sweat clinging to his skin. He fucked him on his hand hard enough to make his body rock back and forth. Eames ducked his head back down, tonguing at those nipples each time Arthur’s tits swayed in his direction.

He couldn’t get enough of Arthur’s taste. Of the feel of him convulsing around his fingers, his legs now raised with his thighs trapping Eames’ hand between them. Rosy petals were falling from the tree down onto their bodies, a vivid contrast to the animal manner in which Arthur began to claw at the grass, his nails extending into claws.

Saito himself could stand before them now and Eames would be unable to look at anyone, anything, but Arthur. His own prick was painfully hard and he moaned into Arthur’s breasts, rubbing his groin along Arthur’s hip and leg. The friction was lacking compared to having a hand on him but it mattered little with Arthur’s cries vibrating on his palm, his body tightening up and seizing around Eames’ fingers.

A hot pulse of slick pushed out from Arthur’s rim, running down Eames’ wrist. Groaning, Eames sucked as much of Arthur’s tit into his mouth as he could, coming in his own slacks.

In the aftermath Eames, higher reasoning be damned, felt content to lie beside Arthur for the foreseeable future. Luck however, was not on his side. Mere moments after reaching his peak, Eames heard a telltale scuffle of motion not far off from the pond. They were being watched.

Or perhaps they had never gone unseen to begin with.

 

 

*

 

 

As he’d lain beside Arthur following their first night of passion, there was only one question weighing on Saito’s mind: “How can we keep you here?”

Arthur had explained to him the necessity of keeping his skin and hair wet but noted even that would not be enough to allow him to live on land for an extended time. He would require a frequent supply of human flesh to consume.

To that Saito replied without hesitance: “How much? How often?”

Saito had not been rash in considering where Arthur’s fare would come from. A regimen of a single fresh meal every three days required a ready stable of individuals to select. People whose absence would not hastily be noted or cause concern. To that end Kenta and Jurou had retrieved a young vagrant from one of Tokyo’s tokushu burakus.

Needing to witness the act of his devotion, once more Saito met them at a slaughterhouse owned by Kaori’s husband Ichiro.  There he watched in silence as the man’s throat was cut, cleanly as he lay unconscious, his body then cut into chunks of unidentifiable flesh.

 

“"Kono jūbundesu?” Kenta asked, pale from the stench of death and bodily waste. His grip on the knife remained firm. As it ought.

 

Handkerchief held aside, Saito breathed in the fumes. One should not commit such a crime and then be unwilling to face its reality.

 

He shook his head, stepping away from a growing pool of blood. “"Imadani.”

 

Under the guise of being meat retrieved from Ichiro’s whaling trade, the remains were transported to his villa.

 

Now inside his villa’s washitsu, Saito kissed the curve of Arthur’s shoulder, listening to him sing a renga he’d once heard his mother recite to his father.

 

_“Not even the name is written on the face of the knotted letter. Like Iwashiro’s pine “I’ll wait” is all the message it brings…”_

His voice had a peculiar, echoing quality to it; he may as well have been singing under the ocean. Saito imagined the hymns whale’s sung to one another. Etched with an untouchable longing, arms held out but never close enough to embrace another. Underneath Arthur’s kimono Saito stroked over his flank, smiling when Arthur guided his hand up to cup his breast.

 

“I like that one.” Arthur sighed, leaning back into Saito’s front. Their lips met, a slow dance of a kiss, Saito’s fingertips circling Arthur’s nipple. Coaxing out a shiver, Arthur sang in breathier tones into his mouth. He rocked gently on Saito’s lap, pressing on his hardness.

 

Saito brushed hair aside from Arthur’s neck, kissed his wet skin. “Thank you.”

 

Arthur smiled, giving his cheek a tender caress. “Often times swimming in the Celtic Sea I would hear seamen sing of lovers left behind, women pining for their sailors. It seems waters breed a sense of loss in humans.”

 

“I did not feel loss at Arakawa.” Saito murmured, lips still pressed on Arthur’s neck. “It felt like at last reaching your motherland.” He peppered more kisses onto Arthur’s skin, watching him finger and stroke through his wet lengths of hair.

 

For a short time they sat in silence, leaning into one another. Reminiscent of their days spent at Arakawa, in the moments between the tales they told one another, their quiet was content.

 

When he heard the sounds of his cooking staff bringing their evening meal Saito undid Arthur’s obi fully, baring a larger portion of his body. Arthur gave a grateful sigh, only frowning when Saito stopped him from shouldering off the kimono entirely. He placed a hand between Arthur’s thighs, the folds of his clothing only partially covering the image.

 

Per his orders a large portion of the young burakumin had been roasted, the rest blended with a light soup. Saito made sure meals for Arthur were prepared and kept separate from his own and the rest of the villa’s inhabitants. For himself, he was served a bowl of miso soup which he would attend to later.  An identical bowl was sat down on the opposite side of the chabudai.

 

Soon after his servants departed the doors slid open and Captain Eames stepped inside, taking one glance at Arthur perched in Saito’s lap and looked as though he’d prefer to turn back.

 

He’d requested Captain Eames join Arthur and himself without kind intentions. Akira had informed him of Eames’ indiscretion with Arthur in the garden no sooner than Arthur had returned to him, slick between his thighs with fresh bruises on his skin. It had not escaped Saito’s notice beforehand how the Captain watched Arthur with poorly disguised lust.

 

Given a vetsalka’s tendency to keep multiple mates he was not surprised Arthur had slept with another. Saito knew of Eames’ merit to Arthur: he was little more than a playful curiosity who’d caught his lover’s interest. An infatuation that would pass just as quickly as it had arose.

 

But for a man charged with overseeing Saito to so boldly overstep his boundaries, it was an insult that could not go unanswered.

 

Eames took his seat at the other end of their table, not hesitating to meet Saito’s stare. He had all the audacity of a stubborn youth, still learning when to settle for caution over pride. Saito kept his smirk limited to his eyes.

 

Arthur nodded towards Eames, though most of his attention had now turned towards taking in his meal. “Captain Eames.” He said in greeting.

 

“Just Eames, remember Arthur?” Eames dared to keep his eyes on Saito as he spoke.

 

Arthur merely hummed before he let his nails extend into claws, hooking the tips into the roasted torso and bringing it to his mouth. Saito continued to hold Arthur as he began to eat, though he noted Eames was slow about beginning his meal, subtly shifting back as he watched Arthur.

 

He felt Arthur’s back vibrate against him as he growled. The sound was quiet, perhaps borne of frustration. Arthur spit out a chunk of flesh he’d been chewing into his palm, dropping it onto the table. Then with a hiss he reached into his mouth. Saito felt him stiffen a bit and braced himself for what he suspected would follow.

 

He’d witnessed Arthur removing his teeth before several times now. And though the sight remained unpleasant for Saito he’d moved beyond his initial distaste to a keen sort of fascination. Arthur was a creature unlike himself in so many ways. He took pride in being able to catalogue all aspects of his nature.

 

Sure enough a wet, tearing sound broke out and he could see Arthur withdrawing his hand, four triangular shaped fangs clutched in his bloody fist. Arthur tilted his head back, an action Saito had learned meant his new teeth were falling into the place of the previous ones. He could not help but frown, knowing the kimono was now ruined beyond repair but said nothing, retrieving an empty bowl that had been set beside him.

 

A stained robe was little consequence when he now had additional pieces of his lover to keep as his own.

 

All the while Eames sat motionless, chopsticks held still next to his bowl and his eyes widening even further when Arthur dropped his teeth into the bowl and then resumed his meal. There was blood and black venom smearing from his mouth down to his chin.

 

Saito caught his attention, his gaze towards Eames clearly set in challenge: _Are you certain this is what you desire? Can you handle **all** of him?_

 

It appeared Captain Eames had no ready response to that.

 

Even as he ate Arthur was responding to their close contact, his nipples hardening when Saito ran his nails over their tip. He’d hiss his pleasure around a mouthful of roast, pushing his chest out, inviting Saito to take his breasts in hand.

 

Eames was now picking at his rice with a brooding expression, attempting to steal glances at them unnoticed. Arthur paused after he’d finished his roast, looking towards the captain as he reached for the stew bowls.

 

“Eames I can smell your unease.” He said, too gently for Saito’s liking. “Do you wish to leave?”

 

His question caused Eames to straighten up. “Not at all.” Was his reply, then, eyes on Saito. “Darling.”

 

Eames’ expression had closed off. Just as well, Saito thought, his message was being received as he’d intended. Before Eames sat two beings who, though of a different nature moved together seamlessly. Balanced one another out.

 

A connection with Arthur Saito knew Eames could only entertain in his imagination.

 

 “Aijin, I’m sure it is no cause for concern.” He told Arthur. “Captain Eames knows he is free to retire to his quarters if he sees fit.”

 

“He’s right Arthur.” Eames said, jaw tight. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to miss such an engaging performance.”

 

Arthur shook his head, plucking a hunk of meat from the stew and suckling on it. Saito knew their proximity at the table afforded Eames a generous view of his attentions with Arthur. And the captain was by no means unaffected, often appearing unable to decide where his focus should lie; on Arthur’s breasts, on his own meal, or on Saito himself.

 

“Captain,” Saito kept his voice pleasant. “How many more months should I anticipate hosting you until the battleships are completed?”

 

“Well Minister, we’re closing in on the fifth month of Japan’s commission. My reports were sent to the docks three nights ago. From there they’ll travel by ship to my superiors stationed in China, who’ll then send a telegraph of my reports to England.” Eames at last brought a small portion of rice to his lips. He looked to Arthur. “I anticipate this arrangement will continue for several more months. Your people are quite particular on what they want for their warships.”

 

Saito stared at Eames, who refused to back down, until Arthur swallowed down more stew and groaned at them. Though he ran a soothing hand through Arthur’s hair in apology Saito’s gaze remained on Eames. It was impossible for the hostility between them to go unnoticed. Arthur appeared no longer willing to ignore it and Saito watched him reluctantly push his last remaining bowl of stew towards Eames. 

 

“It’s delicious.” Arthur said, nodding towards the bowl. “I’m still acquiring the changes in taste when not given raw meat but since you’re altogether inexperienced with it-“

 

“No!” Eames said, leaning back on his cushion. “As nice as it is of you to offer Arthur, I’d rather stick to my own course.”

 

This time Saito made no effort to hide his grin. Watching Eames pale as he caught Arthur’s intentions was an image he’d not be opposed to seeing more often.

 

“You are certain?” Arthur gathered a piece of flesh from the bowl, studying it. “It is common for my kin to consume our fallen. Humans have a different practice?”

 

Eames glared at Saito accusingly. Of course Saito could have told Arthur well before tonight that such an offering would be inappropriate. It would have been a pleasure watching the captain unknowingly consume those he held in such low regard, knowing such an act lowered Eames to the status of a barbarian.  

 

“We bury our dead Arthur.” Eames stammered.

 

“That is a waste of available sustenance.” But Arthur relented with a shrug, quickly emptying his stew of its meat. He leaned back against Saito with a satisfied hiss, hands stroking over Saito’s on his breast then down to his abdomen.

 

“When next you wish to play in front of Captain Eames,” Arthur said, a touch of breathiness to his voice. “You should tell me beforehand Daichi. I could participate much better without such a distraction.”

 

To that Saito smiled, kissing his shoulder. Eames chuckled. “Believe me darling, you’re putting on quite an impressive display.” His tone held no humor though there was a tremble in his voice. Was it arousal, Saito wondered.

 

“The way in which you humans dally with one another.” Arthur said. “It defies reason.”

 

Saito’s smile was fond. Never would he tire of Arthur’s undisguised disapproval of certain human customs. Nor how his desire to learn and experience more of them never wavered.

 

He pet his hardened cock, let Arthur catch his lips for a short kiss, refusing to shy away from the taste of blood and venom on Arthur’s mouth.

 

“I’m going to the furo beside your quarters.” Arthur said, tracing Saito’s lips with his claws. “Enjoy your meal.” They both watched as his nails retracted. Nodding towards Eames, Arthur stood with a small smile, his kimono left open. His fingers combed through strands of hair as they fell back over his shoulders.

 

Saito observed Eames watching Arthur rise, eyes sweeping up the vetsalka’s naked flesh, lingering between his legs. He called out to his guards, allowing them to enter the room and retrieve Arthur’s dishes as he left, leaving Saito and Eames alone.

 

Without removing his gaze from Eames, Saito took a handkerchief off the table. He wiped his mouth, dropping the cloth aside on the table once he’d finished. Eames swallowed, turning his attention towards his food.

 

But Saito would not allow him to continue his meal in relative peace.

 

“Arthur is not the first person you’ve laid with since you’ve come to Tokyo.” Gone was the false timber of pleasantry that had colored their earlier conversation. Saito sat upright, his eyes piercing, as cold as his voice. “Cherish the one time you spent with him, there will be no more. I will not allow your hands that you so readily wash with blood to soil Arthur.”

 

Outside the room stood four of his most trusted guards. With a single word, Saito could have Eames’ throat slit while he ate his rice and return to Arthur knowing pieces of the Captain would be dispensed with other unwanted trash throughout the city.

 

It was the justice he ought to call for, that Saito wanted to call for. For _him_.

 

But he could not.

 

Eames bristled. “I’ve no bloody idea what you’re referring to, Minister. And how dare you presume to forbid me from sleeping with who I damn well please!” His hands remained still on the table; Saito knew the captain always carried his pistol with him. He was not afraid.

 

“Who do you believe cleaned up your murder before, Captain?” Recalling the event, Saito’s lips curled into a sneer. “A body found floating in the river beside a kabuki house does not fail to attract attention.”

 

At that Eames’ bravado began to shrink. “I never asked for your help.” He muttered, continuing to glare at Saito. “I did not want for it to happen. Har-“

 

“Do _not_ speak his name.” Fury rose in Saito. He felt as if he’d been submerged in snow. He was numb, save for his wrath. In an instant his fist pounded down on the table, shaking their bowls, and the overt display of aggression visibly troubled Eames.

 

Eames would never know he’d forced his own guards to do the work of Burakumin, removing the body from the lake. After retrieving the proper handlers, they’d cremated the boy, an honor typically restored for only the wealthy.

 

But Haru had possessed a wealth, a beauty of the spirit. No other form of burial would have sufficed. Saito had given the ashes to Haru’s mother and felt a hollow ache etching out his chest at his inability to properly avenge his death.

 

How long had he watched from afar as something so rare managed to bloom amongst the squalor, only to have Haru’s life snuffed out before they so much as uttered a word to one another?

 

He spared a moment to chide himself; his outburst was too revealing. An instinctive reaction the Captain might easily assume meant Haru’s life had value to him. Fortunately though he had not let enough slip to be unable to steer Eames towards a different conclusion. Saito slowly relaxed his hand, resuming his earlier position of unapproachability.

 

“The boy you killed was a prostitute owned by a member of gokudō.” As he spoke Saito devoted most of his attentions to his meal rather than Eames, taking his time as he ate his miso. “His death was a blow to the man’s finances and so it fell on me to compensate him. Handsomely.” He glanced at Eames then, in clear distaste. “Make no mistake Captain Eames, my actions were not made for your benefit. I handled your thoughtless crime because those English warships are critical to my country’s progress. There is far more at stake here than your idle flights of lust.”

This time Eames made a far greater effort to temper his reaction. Rather than shout or allow his expression to change dramatically, he did no more than nod. Then, with a small quirk of his lips, he replied. “Well understood, Minister.”

It was a lure, meant to provoke another outburst from Saito. Feigned indifference.

Saito responded accordingly, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with his handkerchief. “That pleases me, Captain. I’d prefer to finish my meal in private now.”

The dismissal could not be more blatant. His intentions now clearly stated, Saito had little time to entertain Captain Eames’ attempts at goading him.

“Of course.” Eames’ chuckle was dry, bitter. On the table his meal sat all but untouched. “I would hate to impose, Minister.”

Although Captain Eames departed showing notably more confidence than he’d entered the room with Saito could see the bravado for what it was. He lent no further thought to his observation, his mind already moving ahead to later, to a room in the southern corridors of his villa warmly lit by red lanterns.

As he ate his miso he imagined the cooling steam rising from his bowl to be fresh mists of a warm bath. He tended to his meal as slow and indulgently as he would tend to Arthur’s flesh.

 

 

*

 

 

Eames kept to his quarters longer than usual the morning after his supper with Saito and Arthur. His prolonged stay was not driven by fear of the Minister but the need to prepare himself to interact with Arthur anew. From the start of their engagements he’d always held the fact that Arthur was dangerous to him near the forefront of his mind. Yet his want kept as closely as his caution.

Now he knew precisely what the vetsalka tasted like, how it felt to make him sing out his pleasure. He also knew that Arthur demonstrated all the inhuman ferocity of his nature while eating. There were parts of his character that repelled Eames to witness. Desire became tempered with a new thread of doubt.

Was Arthur truly worth all the risks that came with having him?

Eames contemplated that question for a time. Then, finding he had no definitive answer, at last took his leave from his quarters. So preoccupied was he in his musings he nudged against more than one guard as he made his way through the villa corridor’s towards its library.

Minister Saito’s collection of worldly souvenirs was not limited to the gold or trinkets displayed throughout the halls. His library amassed a large collection of books in several languages from numerous countries. Eames skimmed over a shelf of novels written in English, passing over _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ in favor of Freud’s _The Interpretation of Dreams_. He took a seat at the small round table centered in the room and tried his best to focus on reading.

By the time he’d finished chapter two, having failed to truly absorb a single passage he’d read, the futility of his attempts brought annoyance upon him. Eames scrubbed his hands over his face, sighing as he shut the book. As he was preparing to leave however, the doors to the library slid open.

“Captain Eames.” Arthur said with a nod, his expression pleasant. “I thought we might talk.”

What Eames should have done was refuse him, concoct a reason for them to spend as little time alone as possible until he was set in his intentions towards Arthur. Yet he felt he’d never settle on a decision without first testing the waters a bit more. He nodded and as Arthur parted the doors further, took in his appearance with surprise.

Arthur’s kimono wasn’t anywhere near in the haphazard state he usually wore them. Instead it was wrapped closely to his form, no stray bits of flesh to be seen, in keeping with the manner the female staff of the villa wore theirs. Also out of place was his hair. No longer left to fall about his back and shoulders, it was pulled up into a large bun, held together by a golden clasped jewel with a single loop of his hair allowed to hang from one side of the clasp to the other.

“Darling,” Eames said, slow at first as he considered his words. “That’s quite a look on you.”

Arthur made his way into the library with ginger movements, perhaps still attempting to find his balance. “Thank you Captain.” He knelt down onto a cushion. Eames tried to ignore the slight hoarseness in Arthur’s voice. “Aimi and Chiyo assisted me with it.”

“I see.” Eames kept staring for a moment, unsure how to proceed. “I’m sure your Minister enjoyed the sight before he ran off to breakfast with the Emperor.”

The night before there hadn’t been a single room in the villa where Eames could find refuge in escaping the sound of Arthur’s cries as Saito took him following their shared meal. Their rutting felt like it went on for hours, Arthur reduced from pleas to wordless moans and gasps. Come morning, Eames had been relieved when Saito’s translator informed him the Emperor would be hosting the Minister for a time and it would be in his best interest for Eames not to accompany him.

“He did, but this was not done for him. This is a test.” Arthur said scratching at his hair. “A step in preparing myself to move outside the villa.”

“So you’re not to be house bound for the duration of your time on land.” Eames couldn’t help but snort. “That must be quite a relief to hear.”

“I’d never assumed that would be the case Captain.”

“Just Eames.” Quite wearisome, having to remind Arthur they weren’t on professional terms. On the other hand, Eames found his insistence on formality rather fetching. An interesting dichotomy to how out of place Arthur truly was in their world. Even now, Eames watched him pick at his hair as if in exasperation, fiddling with the clasp before he seemed to remember himself. A fish out of water. It was with that thought in mind that a question came to him.

“Do you miss it? The river?”

Arthur paused stroking a wayward strand of hair that had fallen out of place. He looked at the table for a moment, then met Eames’ gaze. There was something remarkably like pain in his eyes.

“I frequent the garden’s pond often,” Arthur said. “To feel that natural water, place it upon my lips. There are warm springs here as well I find some comfort in. Yes Captain, I do miss the river. I miss the sea.”

He hissed then, and in a swift motion that set Eames shifting back, yanked the clasp out from his hair. As his tresses fell from their arrangement Arthur’s expression crumbled. Leaning forward, he ducked his head down, letting his hair obscure his face, and scratched the table before clasping his hands tightly in his lap.

Although Eames was startled by the sudden shift in motion, he couldn’t help but respond to the obvious distress in Arthur. His voice was gentling as he pressed on. “But you seem happy here.”

Arthur shook his head, face still hidden. “It is my nature, a part of me I cannot sever. The sea is my motherland, Captain and I long for it even as I delight in life on land. In Saito’s company, in yours.” At last he raised his head, sweeping his hair aside. He gestured towards it. “Look what I’ve done. This was meant to be kept in order until dusk, yet I worried my hair might dry. I have failed.”

Eames moved around the table, coming to sit beside Arthur. He placed a hand on his shoulder. “Even humans don’t always succeed on their first attempts at something new Arthur. Doesn’t mean you can’t try again.” There was another reassurance on the tip of his tongue he nearly bit back, but reluctantly voiced. “Saito will understand this.”

“This is for myself as much as him.” Arthur’s tone remained miserable. “So long I’ve wondered what this world might hold for me. Though I tell myself to be patient, it is difficult to remain so.”

Constant yearning was an ache Eames had endured for as long as he could remember. A wound that deepened when what he desired fell so close to his grasp, only to teeter out of reach.  And for a moment he understood Arthur, completely.

Eames drew him into an embrace without consideration. Operating on the basic instinct to comfort someone who touched him. It was foolish yet as he soaked in the warmth of Arthur’s heat, felt those slim hands hesitantly touch his waist, unsure of how to proceed, Eames couldn’t find the desire to reprimand himself.

They remained held together for a short time, Eames gently running a hand through the locks of Arthur’s hair, stroking his back. Arthur mimicked his movements, gradually relaxing into Eames’ hold. A sense of warmth fell over Eames; he felt secure entwined with this creature. Drawing away, he cupped Arthur’s cheek, thumb trailing over his lower lip.

Arthur leaned into the touch, placed a soft kiss on his fingertip. They were still so close, it was an ideal intimate invitation. One that merely a day before Eames would have seized on, caution be damned. But it was a new day, and with it came clarity, a renewed sense of the dangers their affair held for him. He let his hand fall from Arthur to the safety of his lap.

Arthur frowned. “You no longer desire me?”

“Of course I do Arthur.” Eames touched the lapels of his uniform jacket. “But I am not alone in my desire.”

Thankfully he did not have to explain himself further. Arthur caught his meaning immediately. “Saito desires me as well. I see.”

“I can’t apologize for our encounter in the gardens darling. I won’t.” Because he did not regret it, finally tasting what he had spent weeks craving.

“Nor should you.” Arthur said. “I understand now the reason for both of your posturing last evening. So you no longer wish to act on your desires so long as Saito and I mate?”

Eames’ smile was deprecating, false. “Well I’m quite certain your Minister doesn’t wish me to either.”

Arthur considered him silently for a moment, then nodded. More mindful then, Eames put some physical distance between them. But he would not dismiss Arthur entirely.

“I’ve two younger sisters in Ireland.” He said, tentatively. “Four brothers, large enough of a family I’d occasionally be called upon to help arrange my sister’s hair. There are some simpler styles I could show you, if you’d like.”

His offer brought a smile to Arthur’s face, cheeks dimpling. “I would like that very much. And Aimi and Chiyo will be pleased. I have found most of the humans here to be ill at ease with me.”

Eames could undoubtedly sympathize with that. “We’re in the same boat there Arthur. But you know there are other places in the world where you would be made to feel more welcome.”

It was a traitorous thought, a possibility Eames could not dismiss outright. Arthur’s response only bolstered the notion.

“Perhaps.” Arthur said. “But I would not be content to remain just anywhere. Humans as creatures different from myself interest me, but few of the many I’ve met have held my interest. Do you understand Eames?”

So Eames had an effect on this creature, a profound one at that. Exploring the depth of his influence on Arthur, softening those brutally inhuman edges, was not outside the realm of impossible after all. More along the lines of bloody difficult.

 Eames was never one to shy away from a challenge when the rewards were on par with the risks. He wanted Arthur and here he realized there was an opportunity to shape Arthur into someone he could have.

“I understand Arthur.” Eames told him, far more a declaration than an affirmation. “You’ve no idea how glad I am to hear that, darling.”

 

 

*

 

  
Arthur anticipated Saito’s return from the Emperor’s palace with a heady feeling of concern. While he still wore his kimono in proper fashion, his hair once more tumbled down his shoulders and back, freshly wet from his soak in the villa’s onsens.

Originally he’d meant to be able to proudly show his lover how successful his first test of adapting to human customs had been. Now Arthur’s success felt merely half measured. Although Chiyo hesitantly offered to arrange his hair once more when he’d left the spring, Arthur had declined. He would need to be upfront about his error and he was unused to bearing the weight of his tresses in such a manner. How he missed the weightlessness water granted his locks.

There was much about fresh, natural waters, rivers flowing into the sea that he missed. Arthur spent most of the morning in the gardens, dipping his bare feet and hands into its pond. On more than one occasion he considered plucking one of the many koi which swam within the pond for a quick meal. Although vetsalka’s primary food source came from humans, Arthur was accustomed to also consuming squid, octopus and fish as well.

 He’d denied himself the pleasure; it wasn’t enough to simply dress as a human, he had to eat like one as well.

When Arthur at last felt Saito’s presence in the villa, he’d retreated to his private quarters, pillowed under a soft cushion on the floor, reading letters Saito had written as a young boy, scrolls that were worn and carefully preserved.

Even with the warm waters of a hot spring wetting his hair, Arthur felt cold. His sex pressed stiff against his kimono, the breaths he drew shaking.

He’d lived on land for over thirty days, away from his natural realm. In the process, Arthur’s mating period came in shorter intervals, was in fact on the eve of approaching. Every steady, pounding pulse of blood running through the fertile humans occupying the villa chilled his body, tempted him to find his warmth in their flesh.

Sensing the presence of his lover Arthur felt the urge to disrobe, to sing a melody for luring potential mates, and be led by his instincts. Once more he fought, though this time it took a great deal of will to overcome the urge. Soon, he would need to be taken.

Akira parted the fusumas separating Saito’s quarters from the main hall. Arthur did not rise from his seat as Saito entered, instead carefully binding the scrolls of his writings, placing them aside before he turned to face him.

Saito spared his hair a passing glance, said nothing as he focused his attention on Arthur’s kimono, then his face. Unable to decipher his expression, Arthur touched his hair, stroking loose strands through his fingers.

“I am sorry.” He said, quiet. “I could not keep it in place through my worrying.”

As he began to unbutton his shirt, Saito looked as though he was withholding a smile. Arthur could feel the fondness swelling in him, was calmed by it. He watched Saito remove and fold his shirt and trousers, setting them in a pile beside the fusumas for Hachirou to collect later.

He faced Arthur nude, somehow a force of presence that made the room itself seem empty save for him. Arthur stood, moved towards him, smiling when one of his hands was taken.

“But you were able to keep your kimono in order.” Saito said, kissing Arthur’s palm. “We will simply have to try your hair again tomorrow.”

Arthur nodded. “I spoke with Captain Eames this morning, he’s assured me there are other styles he could arrange my hair in that I might find easier to wear.”

His words made Saito pause, a frown briefly curling his lips. “If that is what you wish.”

“You do not like the idea?” Arthur had known the topic of Eames was one Saito never approached with eagerness. But now that he knew of the two human’s competition for him, for mating him, there was a different sense of apprehension to bringing him up.

Saito shook his head. “I do not like Captain Eames. He knows to never be alone with you.”

It was not uncommon for vetsalkas to spar to the death for the right to mate exclusively with one of their own. Arthur had felt how hot their rage for one another burned during the evening meal they’d shared. He’d no wish to see either Eames or Saito lose their lives fighting for something so trivial.

Something that could be shared.

“So,” Arthur said, drawing closer to Saito. “If Akira stands watch over us, will you like the idea more?”

“Perhaps. In truth,” Saito spoke against Arthur’s lips, as though his words were a secret to be held close. “I prefer your hair as you do. As it is now.” He brushed a bead of water dripping from Arthur’s hair down his cheek aside, gentle.

It was with the afternoon sun hidden behind clouds that Arthur shed his clothing, placed it beside Saito’s own. He moved around to Saito’s back, reaching around to grasp his member, feeling it swell in his hand.

Saito's body was a literal work of art; ink painting his skin from his collarbone, over his arms to his wrists, and down his flank and legs. Even his member itself was not untouched. From the front one could see waves spiraling and various koi swimming through their stream. From behind, another magnificent image cascaded down Saito’s back, one Arthur hoped never to tire of placing his worship upon. More waves were etched on his skin all the way down to just above his ankles, painted blue and white. In the center of this image was a samurai, arm raised with a sword in hand,  standing atop a purple koi much larger than himself.

Although Arthur was nearly flush against Saito’s form he pulled back as he stroked him to press soft kisses along his irezumi. The tip of his tongue was a scribe tracing along a pattern of waves, his lips chronicling every detail of his human’s texture. His flavor drew whimpers from Arthur’s lips.

It was with the taste of Saito’s beauty still warm on his mouth that he felt compelled to confess, “Your skin feels so fine.” Then pressed his face into Saito’s neck, breathing him in. “I wonder what I might hear in your song sometimes, if we were of the same kin. Would it move me as your skin does?”

Merfolk did not distinguish one another through title or sex. Rather they communicated through song, each having a particular melody bound solely to themselves. Arthur thought his might sound quieter than most, soothing, though he had no notion of how others heard it. Save for Saito who when Arthur first sang for him, lying beneath him, holding his face between his palms, said he swore in Arthur’s voice he heard the sound of wind moving through mountains.

He imagined Saito’s song would echo down to the lowest chambers of the sea. That his would haunt all who might hear it and from then on a part of them would search for drops of his melody in whatever body of water they travelled through.

Saito turned his head, his body languid with relaxation, and almost on instinct Arthur moved so they could kiss. This he had been worried about, kindling his venom so as not to paralyze his human, being able to lose himself in the dance their lips engaged in without wishing to consume. Little by little Saito had coaxed him into longer moments spent licking into one another. Now Arthur approached this act with nothing but want.

When they drew back Arthur smiled for a moment before the faint kindle of worry arose once more.

“I did not fully succeed today.” He whispered. “How long before I grow enough to step outside these walls? How long will it take to prove I am more than animal?”

Saito turned towards him, taking Arthur’s face in his hands. “You already have.”

 

 

*

 

The dawning of a new day brought with it more than the sun’s return. As Captain Eames and Minister Saito departed, crisp morning wind swept over Arthur like ice. Neither warm tub waters nor the heat of hot springs could quell his yearning.

Sheltered in the southern quarters, the song which echoed from Arthur’s lips fell silent on all within the villa. A hymn sung for the ears of only two humans in particular.

By sunset it had built into a crescendo. A rhythm met by the twin footsteps of Eames and Saito, each making their way towards the same destination, each having forgotten from the moment they heard Arthur’s chant that they were not alone.

They traveled without company, without purpose save to answer the voice which cried out to them.

_“Come to me. Come...”_

*

 

_Saito had not walked on battlefields of human combat personally but felt he understood, in part, the manner in which one’s mind focused and honed on a deadly task at hand. Standing a few feet before him, Arthur appeared nothing short of a landscape primed for conquest. A challenge, a temptation._

_Bare save for his garment of rusted chains and white teeth pulled from the youth of generations lost to his tide. Bare… and dripping wet. Ringlets of his dark hair sparked golden in lantern light; while the fresh steam of bathing water permeated Saito’s room._

_Arthur watched, silent as Saito drew in a deep breath; pushed air, so thick he’d swear it could be tasted, out through his nostrils._

_Not only was the air tainted with a heaviness he knew could not be steam, it had a sweet almost beckoning odor as well._

_Arthur raised his arms, hands dragging the last remnants of clothing slowly up over his head. He let the material fall from his hands._

_Saito thought he glimpsed the light of evening war fires in those eyes; which held him captive as Arthur moved forward._

The clattering of chain and bones on the wooden floor made Eames stop short. He’d only taken a few steps into Saito’s quarters but the sight of Arthur near nude halted him.

No physical contact as of yet. Hell, Arthur stood motionless across the room from him. But once he advanced a peculiar, almost electric heat left Eames shuddering; gooseflesh breaking out on his arm. With a soft glow from idle candle lanterns, the room’s sole light source, Arthur was cast in deep red shadows. The rhythmic swaying of his hips would send any man dreaming, preference be damned.

 

"I want..."

Arthur pressed up along his frame like a river's smooth current, those pert tits flush on Eames' chest.  He moaned; in an instant so hard and bound in tension he could barely be held within his own skin. A surge of colors spotted his vision. Earthy hues of cinnamon and blinding white bright as the sun itself, chasing the cerulean currents of the darker seas and plunging undertow into darkness.

He blinked once more.

 

_Saito heard words overplayed and interweaving with one another. He could not grasp the meaning of more than a handful. Still they rang in his ears, loud as an ancient taiko:_

_" I...I want..._ "

 _Arthur sealed their mouths together, permitting only the smallest moments for oxygen to pass between tongues and lips_. _Exquisitely soft, wet lips; thin in form yet they felt nothing short of voluptuous pressing against Saito's own._

_One of his hands rose as if through its own accord, to weave and twine through the slick ringlets of Arthur's hair before he yanked his head back sharply._

Eames blinked, twice?

And his back was pushing onto the towering fusumas separating them from the rest of Saito's villa. Eames might have moved, might have faltered. Perhaps the decorative vines curled serpentine over, around to pull him there. _No matter_ ; Arthur remained a snug presence, his scent thick. Overpowering. Eames' nostrils flared at the feel of Arthur's cock curved and nestling on his hip. He'd yet to lay a hand on him.

Christ but Arthur was _wet_ , dripping so thoroughly in mere seconds Eames felt a moist patch forming through his trousers.

_Saito smirked when Arthur gave a gasp, eyelids lowering until his gaze was half obscured. He pulled his hair again, harder and to his pleasure he was met with a yelp. For as much as Arthur's mouth parted, such a sound shouldn't have resonated so loudly as it did._

_The room hung in stillness._

_Then he heard it. Rumbling, purring almost; deep from Arthur's throat. With his free hand he cupped a breast; tenderly pinching the pebbled nipple until it hardened. Arthur whimpered; so latent with hunger and yet sweet all the same._

_A spinning sensation wracked Saito's entire body. As he stood taller and lowered his head so as to look down upon Arthur, it felt like falling._

Eames' moan morphed into a low growl.

"...I want, please...I," Arthur was murmuring while he trailed hot, suckling kisses along his jaw. Each word, each exhale became brands searing Eames' skin. His vision vibrated, a haziness thick as autumn London's fogs clouding his eyesight.

Arthur was dancing, numerous smudged shadows of him chasing after one another. Eames couldn't tell if he'd moved for sure. The solid weight of him never lifted. And that exotic aroma he'd caught a faint whisp of earlier returned, crisp and strong as ocean salt water.

 

_Saito could devour those lips; tear flesh from flesh and feast on them. Something feral and aggressive welled up beneath his bones._

_Arthur let out a long exhale, air beating hot, spiraling languid into Saito's mouth. His temperature was boiling, palms moistened by sweat. It was agonizing. It was exquisite._

_Like venom from the breath of a vengeful mizuchi. The ashes of cities laid in ruins after sieges._

_"Arthur...," The words slurred, his tongue felt swollen and heavy but Saito continued, "What is happening?"_

_That strange dialect Arthur had been speaking in stilled. He looked at Saito for a moment; underneath his lashes and though seduction bled through his gaze there was an undertone of almost apology layered in as well._

_He said, "Too long away from natural waters...I must mate with you, " Arthur's hands drug up skin, cupping both sides of Saito's face, "It is merely an aroma to help you, relax, savor this."_

 

Eames thought he'd moved his grip down to Arthur's hips and startled when his fingers met nothing but air. He could see the movements of his hand outlined in bright vivid colors where it flailed about to seek him.

 

"Arthur?" Eames called, an echo reverberating throughout the room. Then his lips were grazing along wet sinews. Over a clavicle, up an arched neck, to the soft shell of Arthur's ear.

 

Arthur responded, "I want it, yes... _more_."

 

His fingers were quick and nimble, freeing the belt from Eames' trousers so they pooled at his ankles. Arthur took his erection in hand with curiosity, fingers rubbing the foreskin and slit in slow torturous strokes.

 

Eames buried his face in Arthur's pert tits, barely registering his confused hitch of breath. His stubble might have sparked electricity on their contours. He suckled on them both; fingers squeezing the tender flesh in time. Arthur gasped, threw his head back, lips parting in a silent cry when Eames nipped along each to his nipples. His teeth were ungentle on them, tugging roughly. Eames' cock swelled to its peak as Arthur's chest began to heave.

 

_Savor; the word fell on Saito's ears like an iron weight. He groaned and pulled Arthur's hair again, pushed his shoulder, allowed himself to fall forward onto the mountains of emerald silk blanketing a futon._

_Laid on his back, Arthur's hair splayed out into waves around him. Slick curls left darkening spots on the silk. He should be painted, immortalized like this. His eyes had closed, brows furrowing and he held his lower lip between his teeth when Saito took a hold of his throat._

_Arthur's mouth opened but only to exhale deeply as a shudder tore through him. Pearls of sweat now mingling with remnants of bath water._

_Saito found him wetter still between his thighs, hardened flesh leading up to a flushed head. Slick wept from its tip, when his hand went lower._

_Arthur's legs drew up, parting. He whimpered as Saito's fingertips caressed his hole. Soft, near helpless noises met every stroke. Without preamble two pushed inside him in a single fluid motion. He watched avid as Arthur's back curved, his voice tearing with the silk caught on his claws into a moan._

_Saito's approval was a groan, was the petting of fingers on Arthur's throat before he gripped hard._

_" My aijin; so warm," He said, nearly purred, " So wanting."_

_Saito fucked him that way; stretched open on two, then three long fingers gliding relentless, as deep he could reach. He touched upon one of the most sensitive spots inside him over and over. A thorough, deliberate massage._

_And Arthur's response was beautiful. Wet, hiccupped moans; pants of, "Saito! Daichi, kudasai."_

_His face burned red from the clockwork clenching of Saito’s hand on his neck. Saito's own hips were making short thrusts against the futon. Each time he choked Arthur, the tightness surrounding his fingers only increased._

Arthur's hands became urgent, ripping Eames' undershirt away. He'd a moment to be thankful for discarding his navy uniform earlier before his shoulders were taken. The room spun, clashed together in a storm. Arthur pulled him away from the fusumas down onto cotton bedding, rolled until he sat atop Eames; knees on either side of his hips. His gaze dark, hungry.

Eames wet his lips, smug as Arthur's eyes followed the motion. Before he could smirk though, Arthur's mouth was on him. Sharp teeth nipped at thick lips while Arthur's tongue played a gentle contrast; licking slow, hot into his mouth.

Eames' sighs were content, a shock. He never dared believe such sounds would be possible anymore. Not after losing -

Whatever line of thought his mind began to wander to was abandoned to a loud, shocked moan. Arthur held Eames' cock steady, gasped as he sank down on it. Had Eames been just short of overwhelmed he'd have Arthur's prick and balls up himself for a better view of Arthur’s hole taking him in.

Instead his mouth was gaping and his fingers curled into fists around silk blankets. While Arthur was encasing him in a snug grip, Eames might have been rendered drunk, the flesh of his rim was softened and he was slick inside, a wetness coating Eames' prick.

He thickened at the mere thought of Arthur lying on the floor with his thighs spread, his hand between them. His tits swaying about thrust after thrust. Noises hushed, desperate and needy as he fucked himself open.

Through it all Arthur was near silent, moist pink lips breathing out only short gasps and pants. Written on his body however, was a tale which spoke of nothing less than carnal desire. And Eames knew that language like the most perverse of scripture. Knew what the trembling of pale thighs, the quick rise and fall of Arthur's arse indicated; fingers jerking as his claws marked a path from Eames' hipbones to sink into broad shoulders.

 

_Saito bent to suck a nipple between his lips, relaxing his hold on Arthur's throat._

_Dragging his teeth across the pebbled tip drew out the most delicious whimpers. Drew Arthur's fingers into his hair, holding him in place._

_He lingered on that pale breast for a time, lost amidst scent and taste and texture. Then with a kiss to Arthur's reddened nipple Saito pulled away, withdrew his fingers from him as well._

_Arthur was clawing at him, frantic, tearing his obi away. Watching, almost transfixed, as Saito's yukata fell open to bare his body. His hands were reverent as they stroked over the irezumi etched on his flesh._

_Saito shrugged the garment off, guided Arthur by fingers sunk into the smooth skin of his hip and should to turn onto his side. Part his legs, allow Saito to slip a hand up under his knee and keep it elevated._

_There was a vivid flush from Arthur's cheeks to the tips of his ears when Saito murmured, commanded:“Aijin, put me where you need me most tonight."_

_Arthur took Saito's cock in hand, stroked it a bit then gasped as he settled it flush against the quivering flesh of his passage and pulled Saito forward. Pulled him inside and downwards, until Saito was breaching the other hole hidden within Arthur, breaking through its seal and stretching the clenched muscle open in slow increments._

_Saito growled at the pace, the agonizing grate to his senses and control. He snapped his hips forward and plunged all the way inside. Arthur made a high, wounded sound, back bowing._

_Saito returned his free hand to that tempting throat, just to hold him there. To have him yield all of his most vulnerable self tonight._

_He dipped his head down, nestled his nose in the dip where Arthur's neck met his shoulder. Listening to his lover's cries and pleas for "motto, Daichi…I need more...kudasai" called back the predatory lust from earlier._

_Their first time Arthur had consumed, possessed him entirely._

_Now it was Saito's turn to possess._

 

Tiny drops of water fell onto Eames, cold shocks to his heated skin. Arthur appeared near wild above him. What hair wasn't so damp it clung to his neck and back flew about his face in time with the frantic rocking motion of his hips.

A rough moan tore from Arthur's mouth when Eames took firm hold of his hips and thrust up into him. The pace he set was relentless, driving his cock deep as he could with each thrust. Eames pulsed at the sight of Arthur's quivering lips, those sweet little gasps. And he knew he must be leaking in earnest within him. Slick coating every inch it touched.

Nails, deceptively blunt now, dug into Eames' heaving chest. Arthur leaned forward, mouth open wide. Wet and panting.

He broke off into cries when Eames snapped his hips faster, shoved up into him.

"Eames!"

"Darling, _darling_. So good," Eames' voice dissolved into a thick groan, "Let me hear you."

Long, curly strands poured out over Arthur's shoulders; several ends tickling the rosy peaks of his nipples. Eames watched as they flit and swayed, roused by the bouncing vibration of his tits.

He smacked both breasts and Arthur was weeping, his hole clenched like a vice. Eames did it once more before grasping them both and squeezing, hard. Drunk on the now constant pulses around his aching cock, Eames' eyelids dropped but he would not allow them to close. Every sound became a sight and motions prolonged, the beads of sweat on Arthur's neck taking hours to slip between the reddened mounds of his bust. And that lean form turned intoxicatingly supple as Arthur arched his back, lashes fluttering, his hands coming up to hold Eames’ own in place.

 

_Saito's hips pounded against Arthur. Pressed deep within his separate channel to push and rub until he sang for him. Cries and whimpers that played through Saito's senses like a master. He let his hand move from holding Arthur's leg to massaging the sensitive round flesh beneath his member._

_Tender at first, then he tightened his grip, merciless and drank in Arthur's hitched breathing._

_"Tonight you are mine, Arthur."_

_Arthur gasped, shaking apart in Saito's grip. "Yes," he said, "yes, yes..."_

_Saito kept his pace, pumped further and further into Arthur. As far as was possible; he longed to mark every part of him inside out. Saito thrust until he'd stolen Arthur's voice. Reduced him to wordless sobs._

_Still the chant of his assent echoed throughout the room. The only dialogue he had to offer now. And those breathless moans he rewarded Saito with made fluid weep from deep within, leak out around Arthur's entrance to leave sticky trails from his inner thigh to silk sheets._

He yanked one hand back, giving Arthur only a moment to whine before he slapped that gorgeous cock of his. Once, twice, three times. Sounds of his palm stinging Arthur's hardness, making it beat against Eames' stomach were nearly drowned out by the screams of ecstasy Arthur gave.

Eames urged him on. "Come on darling, c'mon"

His every breath was a harsh rasp. Eames could feel his balls draw up but he wouldn't finish before Arthur. Lovely Arthur whose face had gone slack with pleasure.

Eames' hand on his breast clenched, he hit his cock again and Arthur fell forward, sobbing. His peak came in waves of spasms so damn tight Eames' own orgasm was almost violent in its intensity.

In the aftermath he expected to hear, something, anything. Rasps of his breaths; of Arthur’s own pants joining with him.

Not an absence of sound; it hit Eames, chilling right down into his instinctive urges to flee or fight. But his arms and legs did not register his mind’s panic.

Eames moved in sluggish, drawn out motions and by the time he’d realized that what felt like hours spent standing to make for the entrance was merely him rolling onto his side, he had no voice left to cry out.

Darkness swallowed up his legs, then his arms, up to his neck to swim inside his eyelids and Eames’ last sight before it claimed him was Arthur; still seated above him. Lips murmuring what might have been a soft farewell or a lullaby to guard Eames from what might awake in hours of sleep. 

 

*

 

Light peered through the embroidered sudares separating Saito’s quarters from the world outside. It was a dawn fresh as first spring day and the sun’s rays shone unforgiving on the room’s occupants.

On his futon Eames tossed, battling the lack of alertness borne from waking. He gave an incoherent rumble of alarm when his right arm struck a chest far too broad and far too flat to be Arthur’s. Opening his eyes he was met at once with the stricken gaze of Saito, who laid on his own futon beside him.

Neither spoke of their confusion or their evening. Of twilight hours spent memorizing the curvatures and textures of the flesh. A night which felt like dancing awake in a dream.

Daybreak stole their words; did not grant them neither clarity nor answers.

And on the floor in front of their beds laid Arthur’s garment. Pile of rust and bone. Decayed and weathered from salt waters, each minute fragment of human cavity cast a bright glint off the rising sun. Grotesquery the vetsalka, their _lover_ wore like art.

Their lover, _their_ Arthur, was nowhere to be seen.


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hover over the Japanese for translation!  
> For further visual of Haru and Mao see these posts: http://velificantes.tumblr.com/post/126605483185/neolatibule-haru-fiddled-with-the-ornate-folds and http://velificantes.tumblr.com/post/118160840520/the-lady-of-the-house-arthur-thought-taking-the

At times such as these, Saito felt certain Arthur belonged in his world. By his side.

From his place, obscured behind his sudare, he watched Arthur perch himself idly on one of many rocks lining his villa’s onsens. Steam circled around him, as if Saito was seeing Arthur through thin layers of fabric.

Arthur’s back was to him; hair swept over his shoulder. It seemed this early in the day he felt no need to conceal his claws; the curve of elongated nails wove through strands of his locks. Beads of water streamed down his back. Saito yearned for his lips to follow each of their paths.

Only Arthur’s feet remained the water. He’d crossed his legs and his hands kept caressing his body. Swept through the crown of his hair, trailing along his neckline. Over those supple breasts to dip down his abdomen, the jut of slim hips, before resting at the knee and restarting their journey in reverse. Arthur turned towards the left.

Saito wondered what he thought of when his lashes fluttered so; when his lips parted.

No longer could he bear to remain distant. He spent most of the morning following Arthur’s heat in meditation. When he had first woken to find himself alone with Eames rather than Arthur, the pain was immediate. Even now it ached knowing he was not the only one Arthur had sought in his time of need.

Anger had come later. After Eames departed from his room, an inelegant retreat if there ever was one, Saito had taken the time to rearrange his surroundings back into order. As though the previous night had been little more than fever dream. Meditation brought no relief, rather his pain blossomed into a slow kindling ire.

Only then did he seek Arthur out. The sight of him did not quell Saito’s ire. However he felt a heavy sense of longing rising along with it.

He stepped up behind him, certain Arthur had felt his presence by then. Heat from the onsens was a welcome contrast to the coldness of Saito’s temperament. Arthur turned towards him, lips curved into a smile, but when he made to touch him Saito stepped aside. Out of reach.

“You took your leave early last night.” Saito said, his voice ungentle.

Arthur appeared surprised by his tone. Dropping back into the spring, he propped his upper body over the rocks, watching Saito intently. Then he reached his hand out, inviting Saito to come closer. Recalling the moment at Arakawa, when he had offered Arthur himself and his world, led Saito to accept. His manner, however, did not soften even as he leaned down.

“I am sorry I left you there alone.” Arthur said, pressing their foreheads together. “In a mating cycle, often my kind desires to eat those they lie with afterwards. I couldn’t risk hurting you. So I left.”

Saito shook his head. “This is not why I’m upset. You did not leave me alone.”

He felt Arthur stiffen, knew he understood his meaning.

“Eames.”

“Yes.” It did not escape Saito, that Arthur now addressed the captain without his honorific.

When Arthur pulled away he did not move to stop him or to reassure him. Saito focused on Arthur’s face, the shifts from confusion, to pain. In a way, it was reassuring knowing he could still touch him deeply. Made the realization that the sea was not all he stood to lose Arthur to easier to bear.

“You are upset that I laid with him?” Arthur asked.

“No,” For Saito the wound was deeper than that. “You called for him, when you needed someone.” He kept his eyes on Arthur as he spoke. “I thought you would call for me alone.”

Arthur broke their stare, his gaze falling on the rocks he laid on. It was obvious he was debating on how to respond and for a moment Saito watched him, the slight shifts in his expressions.

“You have come to know Captain Eames in the past month.” Saito said. “But only what he has wished for you to know of him.”

His words immediately caught Arthur’s attention. Moving closer to Saito, Arthur shook his head. “Tell me what you speak of.”

“Weeks before you met Eames, a man was murdered at a kabuki house. Only one that I know of. Eames was responsible, though my men disposed of the body. I suspect this is not the first time he has killed.”

Arthur touched him then, a brief brush against Saito’s hand. “Why?” He said, voice uncertain. “Why are you telling me this?”

Saito took Arthur’s hand, grasped it firmly. “From the moment I sat on the banks of Arakawa I have never sought to deceive you. I am always honest with you. Captain Eames is a liar, a thief and a murderer. But he would not have you know his true self. He is not a man you can trust.”

Arthur softened at that. “You are worried.”

 _Yes_ , Saito thought, _of far more than you realize._

“I am thankful for you telling me this. And…I had not considered that you would feel wounded if I took Eames as well.” Arthur said. “I thought, you two would…it doesn’t matter, I have hurt you, deeply.” Tentatively, he touched Saito’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”

Saito nodded, accepting the apology. His next words, however, were not meant to absolve. “You were not thinking as I, nor any other human would on this matter.”

“I suppose not.” Arthur paused for a moment, then ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “It seems there is so much, so much I must change. At times I find myself questioning whether I am meant for this land.”

Arthur’s words were hushed. He was confessing his worries and the words struck Saito, the anger he’d been holding giving way to sympathy. In truth, he was not unfamiliar with the sense of dislocation Arthur expressed.

“I am not so sure I belong in this world either.” Saito said, then, softer, “This, or the even the next.”

Arthur shifted, taking both Saito’s hands in his. “Have you always felt this way? Does it pass?”

Saito shook his head. “It has never, not in my life, though once I found someone I wanted to live with and be at peace.”

Her name was in his mind, her face as well. Five years passed and she still had the power to make Saito shake from the force of her memory alone. _Why did you leave without me?_ Saito had contemplated that question countless times before and always answered with what he knew to be the truth: he’d left her long before she went away.

“Your lady?” Arthur asked, gentle. “The lady of the house?”

 _“ Aijou_; her name was Mao.” Saito paused, eyes closing. How long had it been since he’d spoken of her? The weight of her name felt too much to bear. “She…she was the winter, melting into spring. So abundant, as if there were too much life held within her.”

To speak of her was to unsheathe a blade and pierce himself. Already tears gathered in the corners of Saito’s eyes. He had to breathe in, then exhale gradually to calm himself. Beside him Arthur was silent in the face of his confession. Five years passed and Mao’s spirit could still tear Saito’s defenses to their core. He could not yield to the sorrow afflicting him, for all he’d never lift the burden of guilt off his shoulders.

Nor could he meet Arthur’s eyes as he continued. “We were an arranged match, wed early, but we were blessed. A love blossomed between us nonetheless. In her I found a constant source of ease; she held my heart beside her own as if they grew in her from birth. And I would take her pains, her rage as mine. Despite this I still felt adrift in my soul, out of place even at my home in her arms. I could not fill this absence. Not until I first felt your presence at Arakawa.”

Arthur’s hand settled atop his. A gesture of apology or comfort? Saito could not be sure, but he let Arthur be the statue on which he mourned.

“I began to venture there as you know. More and more as time went by, eventually any waking moment not filled with my duties was filled with the mediation and solace I found on the banks. In the hidden presence of yourself. I was lost on your shore, I drifted away from the world outside. Away from Mao. When our son came into the world stillborn I turned my back on all but Arakawa. My silence became my shield. There was no armor left for Mao. I had abandoned her.”

Saito’s covered his face, overcome. The blade cut through to his heart and as he bled out all the admissions he’d held withheld he feared he might be lost to grief. How dare he speak of her without tears flowing forth like a river overrun? How dare he cling to his defenses in the face of his crime of absence?

There was no other way to appease his weakness than to reveal more.

So Saito continued and he did not take Arthur’s hand again. “Four months after we buried our son I awoke alone. Mao was gone; where she should have laid beside me I found only a letter. She wrote to me: Beloved, I have gone to give myself to Arakawa. This river has claimed your spirit, your heart, your soul. At night I pray for merely the glimpse of your shadow in our halls; the echo of your whispers. All of these, unanswered. That I might be blessed with the ripple your fingertips make in the stream, this is my heart's last desire.”

He could say no more. Never before had Saito spoken of Mao’s passing, of the distance he put between them, aloud. Grief weighed down his soul, a burden he had placed on himself. Saito would not yield to it however, he straightened himself. Yet even so, his hand remained clasped over his heart, as if to will it back to full form. He blinked away his tears.

Arthur tilted his head, watching Saito with open concern. “You are sad, yet you will not cry?”

“I cannot submit to my pain Arthur.” Saito said. “There can be no blade that pierces me.”

“But you _have_ been pierced. Several times over. I do not understand this suppression.”

How could he? How could he know the responsibility Saito held, as a figurehead in his community? As the last of a line of leaders?

Freedom was what Arthur had always known. Saito had lived his life knowing what it means to serve.

“For my people I am a pillar, a stone the Emperor wields to set the course for my country's future.” He said. “I cannot yield Arthur. I cannot.”

"Is it such a weakness? A private display of something touching you, deeply." Arthur's fingertips moved, slow enough to wound, down Saito's throat, across his chest, to rest over his heart. "Here?"

Saito flinched against the dual questions. The precipice. In a voice which should not, could not be his own, he answered.

_"Yes."_

Arthur’s hands touched Saito’s face. To Saito, those lethal hands were shields. Shudders wracked him. Arthur was kissing along his mouth, languid, drawing back enough to breathe against Saito’s lips.

“Then I shall yield for you.”

A barrier faltered. Saito’s breaths turned to sobs.

Still he shed not a single tear.

And Arthur…

Arthur was weeping.

Tears slipped along Arthur’s cheek as he continued to brush their mouths together. His shoulders were trembling and Saito’s hands rose to stroke, soothe him. Brought his palms up to Arthur’s face. He caught a droplet, startling at its weight. Solidity where he should feel watery substance.

Saito drew away. Looking down into his palm he felt enraptured by the small silver gem he now cradled. Arthur sought his gaze.

“Take it,” he said, “keep it close.”

His hand shook, fingers curling over the delicate pearl protectively. Saito’s eyelids fell.

Oh how, _how_ would his fortress withstand the might of this gift?

For a long time his eyes remained shut. If they were to open, he feared, the world itself would blur and drown before him.

 

 

*

 

 

Arthur leaned back against the wooden edge of his furo with a soft sigh, resting his arms up along it. The water was scalding hot, perfect, though currently he was being treated to more than a brief soak.

Eames was behind him, bent down on one knee behind the tub and fully dressed in his naval uniform.  Arthur thought the Captain looked quite fetching in his blue bottoms, jacket and gold buttons. He’d fretted when Arthur made to grab his hat but Akira’s cough ended their play.

The guard who shadowed Arthur most often was still in the room, standing stiffly off to the right as Eames went about his work. Arthur intended to honor the arrangement he and Saito had discussed and so Akira watched Eames go about arranging Arthur’s hair.

‘Used to watch my mother do this for my sisters every morning before I went off to the docks.” Eames said. “Simple and quick.”

He seemed to be looping Arthur’s hair into a row, folding sections of it over one another. Although the texture of his hands was rough, his fingers were gentle in Arthur’s locks.

Arthur kept his head still, concentrating on Eames’ words. “How much kin do you have?”

“Too bloody much.” Eames laughed. “Six brothers, two sisters, then there’s mum, a couple uncles and all the runts they’ve had.”

“Do you all fish for a living?”

Eames snorted at that. “Most of the lads went that way, of course I was an exception. Mum and the girls work in a bakery.”

Arthur hummed, storing the information away. He glanced at Akira, smiling softly and his smile widened when Akira stiffened and looked away for a moment. Arthur could hear his pulse quicken. It was a somewhat welcome reaction.

Much of the villa staff and even some of Saito’s guards tended to regard Arthur with open wariness but remained polite. More and more however Arthur sensed a new emotion growing among them: suspicion.

Arthur could understand it. He was a strange creature Saito had brought back one day; bearing more resemblance to Eames than anyone native to Japan. As his writings and the interactions Arthur observed between him and guards indicated, Captain Eames’ presence most certainly was not a welcome one.  

Arthur had come to regard earning their trust as yet another challenge he’d have to best to prove himself capable of moving outside the villa. He behaved well-mannered toward them, making sure not to hiss or bare his claws if they happened to displease him.

So far the results of his efforts were small. Hachirou, the servant boy, appeared to be the only person becoming fond of Arthur. Akira, like many of Saito’s guards, showed interest but remained wary.

“There we are.” Eames placed rope-like form of Arthur’s hair back into the tub. “Should stay plenty wet for a couple hours.”

His fingertips brushed over the nape of Arthur’s neck. Tilting his head, Arthur hummed, combing his fingers through the looser section of his locks.

“Thank you Captain.” He said, feeling a small sweep of longing when Eames’ fingers retreated. It had been five days since Arthur left his pearl tear in Saito’s care. Although Saito continued to keep his company, he and Arthur had not mated since his heat.

Eames stood with a regretful sigh. “I’ll have to be off then. Your minister is not man who appreciates being made to wait.”

His retreating footsteps made a steady, thumping clatter. Slipping his eyes shut, Arthur sank lower into his tub and concentrated on the strain of those boots, still feeling the trace of Eames’ touch on his neck and hair.

For a time he sat in silence, until the water shifted from hot to cool. He thought of how those gold buttons on Eames’ coat would scatter across the floor if he were to tear that uniform apart with his hands. Of Saito’s sharp inhale of breath whenever Arthur licked down the curvature of his spine. Such delights were now elusive pleasures he yearned for.

When Arthur at last rose Akira swiftly turned his back to him. If Arthur desired enough he could have the guard for pleasure and then for a meal. All it would take was a melody sung to lure.

No such song would be heard. The memory of the wound he’d struck Saito laid fresh on Arthur’s mind. Along with it what yielding to his carnal instincts would signify. He was more than animal and he would continue to demonstrate that. If Saito no longer saw fit to mate him, then so be it. This was another challenge he would withstand alone.

Arthur pulled on his robe, making sure to tie the cloth belt around his waist tight. Now was as good a time as any to take a stroll through the gardens. He allowed Akira to follow him into the hallway without protest.

Arthur emerged to see Aimi carrying a basket of fabrics. As it had when she and Chiyo assisted Arthur with his hair before, the thrum of her pulse quickened with his presence. When she walked past him she put as much space between them as she could.

Hachirou came around an adjoining corner, carrying a bucket of water. The boy worried his lower lip between his teeth when he caught sight of Arthur but his eyes were curious as ever. Arthur smiled at him, kneeling down so they were face to face.

“Ogenkidesuka?” Arthur whispered, as if this were a secret talk between them even with Akira’s presence looming behind him.

Hachirou bounced up onto his tiptoes, smiling then. He was just as quiet as Arthur when he spoke. “Onaka ga akimashita!Anata wa futatabi okashi o motte imasu ka ?”

That was a secret. The shrimp and clams Arthur had passed along to Hachirou yesterday, and it seemed had won his favor ever since.

“Sugu ni.” Arthur said, intending to tell Hachirou about the squid he’d be eating soon, but Chiyo’s voice interrupted him.

“Hachirou!” She called, leaning her head out from one of the rooms behind them. “Koko ni kite!”

Hachirou scampered towards her at once. With a sigh, Arthur continued on his trek. He did not miss Chiyo’s words however.

“Watashi wa mae ni iimashita. _Kanojo wa shite oki nasai_.”

None knew him in this villa like Saito, not even Eames. So they were unaware of how much their bodies spoke to Arthur even if they did not name their fear in words. That even when they whispered, he heard their voices. It wasn’t similar to the distrust they showed Eames either. Arthur frightened them.

Now he wondered just how much about his nature he’d not managed to hide so well.

When they passed a hall just beside the porch to Saito’s gardens, Arthur nearly paused at what he overheard.

“Naze kono heya?” A man said, sounding tired as he huffed. “Saito-sama wa kochira niku o hoji suru koto wa arimasen.”

“Mā, karera ga watashi iu kore wa geinikudearimasu.” Akio tutted softly. “Kono yōna geiniku o mita koto ga arimasen…”

Arthur could smell precisely what manner of meat was being brought to their room.  He frowned. When Saito returned Arthur would have to speak with him about this. If the cook was questioning the source of his meals it could lead to nothing but further unrest.

 

*

 

Gradually it became difficult to find Arthur without the silent presence of Saito hovering in the background, watching every move Arthur made.  For the life of him Eames could not figure out why the Minister held back against an urge he knew burned through all reason. To claim what by now was undeniably shown as within reach. As for the taking. Ugliness and greed burned in Eames at the thought.

He sought Arthur with the devotion of a starving man seeking bread. All through the sliding doors of Saito’s villa, in his gardens abound of flower petals, the fresh waters in those hot springs Arthur so often frequented. Always Eames felt he was chasing a shadow.

Except for now.

Being the Minister of Japan’s finances entitled Saito to certain leeways yet also burdened him with multiple responsibilities. He was one of a handful of public faces touted out to sell their decisions peaceably to the city’s populace. So today, while Saito attended a public unveiling, Eames convinced his translator he should stay behind. Surrounded by the might of his personal guard, Minister Saito was well protected.

Having resided in the villa for eight months already Eames knew his way around. Why endure the exhausting experience of learning such a foreign language when he had free reign to roam where he pleased? He knew precisely where to first seek out his sea nymph and crept towards Saito’s private quarters. The fusumas parted with a gentle wisp and Eames stood entranced with the sight that greeted him.   

_Haru; Eames reminded himself as the boys arms flailed, frantic, helpless. His name was Haru and even with the moon alone as their witness tonight Eames could see clearly._

Arthur was lying on his side, shoulders rising and falling rhythmically. Though his eyes were open they had a glazed appearance to them and followed Eames’ motions when he hesitantly made to step further into the room. That stopped him short, his breath quickening. But even as Eames stood with one hand clasped to the doors Arthur remained serene, resting on Saito’s futon, his head pillowed on his hands.

Aside from his eyes, nothing about Arthur indicated he was awake. This must be how he slept then, and what a manner in which to rest indeed.

_Everything he catalogued, housed in his memory. He would remember the red strands of blood leaking from nails torn off rocks._

Waves of hair curled messily about Arthur, obscuring sections of his face then like spilled wine dripping in trails over the slope of his shoulders. Curved into the braid Eames had fashioned for him down the line of his ribs to his navel.

_Haru fiddled with the ornate folds and decorations adorning his black hair often. Twirled loose strands along his fingers. Such spontaneity; the lack of discipline was what drew Eames to him. He spoke not a lick of English and his red cupid bow lips were set in a perpetual pout._

Eames’ eyes lingered on a dark curl framing lips parted slightly, moving to the motion of Arthur’s even breaths.

_Until Eames found just the right spot inside that made Haru gasp. Until later, hours later, he reenacted the scene of a drunken old fool collapsing in the streets and made him laugh._

Arthur wore one of the blue komons Saito stored away from all but the most private eyes; its large pattern of clouds and ships nearly lost on Eames. He was instead hungry for more peeks of flesh than the partially opened fabric revealed. The pale glimpse of an inner thigh, one of his bent knees and the sinuous span of those legs down to bare feet.

_He would remember the way Haru’s pale skin burst impossibly whiter, then darkened into purple where Eames hands on his neck and shoulder kept his head submerged in river water. How his feet kicked over and over then finally stilled. One hand, clenching grass into a fist, going lax._

At once Eames knew it would take some time before moments such as these did not throw him off. How soft and unassuming most of Arthur appeared in slumber. Apart from those eyes, all traces of his lethality were as visible as the air.

Yet there was a quality to his gaze which defied the eeriness of him resting with his eyes open. Eames felt enraptured watching Arthur’s pupils keep track of his movements.

He remembered sitting on the Irish coastline one particularly bright day, as the harsh winds of winter had just begun to give way to a tempestuous spring, and sloshing about stones, shells, and salt water in a thin metal pan. Seeking precious stones, luster hidden in the ocean’s depths.

_“Haru!” the boy repeated, lips twisting into a scowl. By the third time Eames received this after addressing him as “Kagema” he understood and nearly flushed from embarrassment. In apology he took Haru’s hand in his._

_“Haru,” Eames whispered as he kissed each fingertip, one by one, “Haru, Haru, Haru…”_

So too was Eames drawn in by the gold and blue shades of Arthur’s eyes and felt compelled to kneel before him. To reach out and brush the backs of his fingers along the sharp cut of Arthur’s cheekbone, lingering at the corner of his mouth.

He froze when his wrist was caught in a firm hold. Arthur was still staring at him, but now with a clarity in his eyes that told Eames he’d awakened him. Eames sat back, flicking his wrist a tad dramatically when Arthur released him. To his delight, Arthur rolled his eyes.

“How do you sleep when you’re underwater?” Eames asked, curious as ever.

Arthur stretched, drawing Eames’ focus to his collarbones and the elongated line of his neck. “Much the same way as I was doing now.”

“But in a cave?”

“No.” Arthur shook his head. “I have never favored hiding.”

His words cut Eames, though he doubted it was Arthur’s intention for them to wound. For a moment he stared at Arthur in silence, though he was not seeing his vetsalka at all. In his mind Eames was in that kabuki theatre, after his first encounter with Haru, making sure to avoid seeing the boy again.

It had seemed like the safe option.  A single encounter, little chance of them growing reckless and being noticed by someone important. Eames had no allies in this country, no one to save him if he suddenly found himself hauled up in prison.

_The next time he saw Haru was on the stage, as he performed. More than once, those fierce brown eyes locked with Eames in the crowd. And he had the distinct impression that Haru’s performance of a woman mourning the absence of her lover was for him._

_The way his hands reached out, grasping at nothing, and he turned towards the crowd. Found Eames once more. The tremble in his voice as he spoke, Eames might not have understood the words but he knew well the sound of longing._

_Try as he might Eames could not elude the boy. He was pursued from the threatre crowd, behind the stage, all the way outside._

_“ Watashi wa mōichido anata to tsukiaitaidesu,” Haru kept telling him._

_Haru’s mouth was quivering when Eames finally allowed himself to be turned to face him. There was a quiet resolve in those brown eyes, wet with unshed tears. He could not permit himself to be swayed. Carrying out an affair underneath his charge’s nose put far too much at stake._

_But there, standing before a lake outside the theatre, he let Haru clutch at him desperately. Whisper soft, frantic words Eames didn’t understand as he embraced him. Haru tucked his face beneath Eames’ neck, still speaking to him, fingering the buttons and lapels of his uniform._

_Eames was not a decent man, nor was he a considerate man. However a compulsion shook him, moved him to wrap his arms around Haru, murmuring soothing words to him. Lies disguised as reassurance._

Arthur’s words brought him back to the present. “You, Eames, are a man who seems to wear many faces. I’ve noticed you sign your letters to your family with a different name than those to other seamen. Are you even a seaman?”

Of course. Eames should have bloody known better. Arthur was too sharp not to pick up on the small details. “Those letters, I wrote in confidence,” he said, letting his irritation show, “and were not meant for your eyes. You, darling, pry far too much.”

Arthur considered him for a moment, then nodded somewhat apologetically. “Yes, I do,” he said, without shame.

“Well, good on you for making such an astute discovery.” Eames folded his arms over his chest. It was a gamble to answer Arthur’s question, but his gut told him the odds were in his favor. “You’re right. I am not Captain William Eames at all.”

“I see.”

“You going to run to your Minister and inform him of this then?”

Arthur looked surprised at that. “No, why would I? I’ve not told him anything you’ve told me about yourself.”

Even through his relief, Eames’ curiosity was piqued. “And why is that?”

“It doesn’t concern him.”

His frankness ought not to take Eames aback anymore but it did. He blinked, conflicted. A part of him wanted to tell Arthur more but his self-preservation had taken far too many hits. Still the memories he held in solitude were a burden, and here he saw a chance to gain a measure of relief from them.

In the end that desire was so powerful it won out.

“A man I worked with killed a sailor once, took his pips and uniform, did everything he could so no one would identify the body. For a fee, he offered to give the sailor’s belongings to me,” Eames said, quiet. “I thought I wanted the life of a navy man, a better pay than making bootleg brews offered. William was someone I knew well. Someone who cared for me. He used to tell me stories about seafaring and navy life endlessly to impress me.”

He laughed, hoarse, at how foolish he’d been back then. To have been blind to William’s true, possessive nature. “After I decided to pretend to be the dead sailor I began asking him more about it. At first he indulged me but eventually, he grew suspicious.”

Arthur was watching him quietly, without judgement so far. For which Eames was silently grateful. Under that comfort his confess seemed to spill out from himself.

“Perhaps he thought I’d find someone I fancied more, or he did not want me to be gone at all.” Eames frowned. “I don’t know why he did it, but after he found out what I was planning to do he threatened to report me for lying with men if I tried to go through with it. Where I came from, you could be imprisoned for such an act.”

He looked away, shutting his eyes for a moment. Tried to break free of the dual onslaught of memories. William, Haru…William and Haru. Two people whose blood he had on his hands, even though only one of them continued to haunt him.

_It could not go on forever. Finally Eames pulled away, shaking his head when Haru tried to hold him. The time for sentimental gestures was over. Eames wanted to stay, and that was how he knew the only option he had was to leave._

_But then Haru moved, fast enough to startle Eames. He placed himself in front of Eames, blocking his path._

_Hands trembling, Haru motioned towards where Minister Saito and his guards could be seen through the back opening of the theatre house._

_“ Saitō-san no gādo o shutoku shite kudasai,” Haru said. “ Sonogo, anata wa watashi no iu koto o shitte imasu.”_

_Eames felt his heartbeat quicken, felt himself go tense with alarm. Any opportunity to collect Saito’s translator had passed._

_In Haru’s voice, Eames found an iron will he’d heard before._

_He was being threatened, bribed with fear. To carry on with Haru or else risk exposure. Eames swallowed hard, the painful reminder of William’s threats coming to the forefront._

_The same threats and once again he felt trapped._

_He took Haru’s hands in his, kissed them, and led him further down the riverbank._

“So…I killed him.” Eames did not look at Arthur as he continued. “I knew William was scheduled to ship out to a different vessel then he’d served on before. I took his belongings, paid for his body to be hidden and pretended to be him instead.”

It did not have to happen. In Haru’s case at least, Eames now knew that fact painfully. If he had only quelled his panic, if he had just asked Daisuke offhand, even once, what the laws were regarding sexual morality here, Haru would remain as he was. Vibrant, _alive_. His.

Eames was unsure of what reaction he expected from Arthur. Disbelief, perhaps but not the deep furrow of his brow and the confusion in his voice.

“If you believed William cared for you, why not talk to him?” Arthur asked.

“He was ready to betray me once, Arthur. In the right circumstance, what would stop him from doing so again? I took no joy in his death but there was no other alternative.”

“Are you so certain?”

 _No_ , Eames thought. “Yes.”

Arthur looked at him for a long moment. Then his next words threw whatever safety Eames felt in their conversation to the wind.

“And the theatre boy. Saito told me of him. Was there no other alternative for him as well?”

Eames stiffened at that, his sorrow quickly giving way to anger. “And what would you know of necessary deaths darling? You prey on humans for a living.”

“For survival Eames.”

“I was trying to survive as well.” Though Eames had not raised his voice his tone still had bite to it. Of all the people he imagined having to defend his actions to Arthur was not among them.

He began to stand, grunting, ready to put this conversation behind him. Once more however, Arthur would not be easily dismissed.

“When you last saw the boy you spoke to him beside the Arakawa. I hear many voices in the river’s stream Eames.” Arthur stood as well, began to walk towards him. “Ask Saito, then you will know what I say. Those were the boy’s last words to you.”

Eames paused at the doorway, his back to Arthur. He shut his eyes tight, at once besieged by Haru’s memory. His soft voice, his face, the smooth touch of his hands on Eames’ arm. A shudder nearly ran through him but he contained it. When turned back, Arthur was right in front of him.

Squaring his shoulders, Eames asked him quietly. “What does _watashi wa mōichido anata to tsukiaitaidesu_ mean?”

Arthur ran his fingers through his hair. Eames had to glance away for thought of who that action reminded him of. “It means I want to be with you again.”

It was too much. The truth, the extent of just how badly Eames has misinterpreted Haru’s words and actions. He felt as once as though he were being submerged in the waters of his own folly and he desperately wished to grasp to something, anything, to tether him to shore.

In desperation he reached for Arthur, brushing his knuckles over fabric. Eames’ knew his hand was gentler tracing the open lines of his kimono than they’d ever been on the bare form of a lover. All save for Haru. He took a shuddering breath, focusing his gaze on the valley between Arthur’s breasts. His fingertip slipped beneath the kimono, trailed over the dip in Arthur’s collarbone.

But then Arthur stepped away, shaking his head at Eames.

“I won’t help you flee from all that chases you Eames.”

Eames felt himself close off, his defenses falling firmly into place. With a dry chuckle he nodded, turning to leave, giving only a few words in departure to Arthur.

“Of course darling. Few know more about running away than you.”

****

*

******  
****  
**

In a matter of four days, Arthur came to know Eames’ distance well. Gone were the meetings in Eames’ quarters, talks while walking through the gardens or small moments of laughter in the study. In their place were short glimpses of Captain Eames leaving or returning to the villa and the sliding doors of his room no longer parted for Arthur to open and step inside.

****

A separation Arthur might have bared easier were it not now a close mirror to his time with Saito.

****

Sitting before a low table, in the room which he and Saito ate together often, Arthur awaited his lover’s arrival fitfully. Outside the wind moved strongly today, enough for Arthur to hear the lantern swaying with its breeze.

****

He thought of how that breeze might weave through his hair, over his skin, closed his eyes and imaged the scent of salt water being carried through it. More than a month had passed since he’d left natural waters.

****

Arthur scratched at his skin, unfolded his legs from underneath himself. For a moment he sat with them folded out to his left side, before soon switching over to his right. The frequent soaks and dips in hot spring waters were not enough anymore to keep him feeling content in his own flesh. Wearing even the thinnest fabric was nearly unbearable and the cushion he currently sat on irritated him. He itched for the constant sensation of being submerged, surrounded by nature’s purest gift.

****

Steam rose from the painted bowl laid before him on the table. The thick, rich scent of a freshly cooked meal only kindled his hunger slightly. Off towards the right there was also a bowl of squid. Arthur however longed for more than meat. In his ears he heard the shallow sound of wind moving over the ocean, a pulse that pounded louder now more than ever, often sending him into fits of painful aches.

****

The touch of another on him, _inside_ him, could soothe his discomfort. However that was now denied to Arthur.

****

He would bear it, he had to.

****

When at last the fusumas parted and Saito stepped inside, still clad in his black collared shirt and pants.  Behind him followed Chiyo, carrying a tray with a bowl that smelt of vegetables and noodles in broth, a plate of sashimi and hashi sticks laid beside it. She placed each item of food on the table neatly. As she left Arthur put his hands together on his lap and nodded his head at Saito as he knelt down onto his seat across from him.

****

“You present your meals so beautifully.” He said. “Tonight is no different.”

****

Saito gave him a light smile, “Thank you.”

****

Although his scent was relaxed, Arthur noted he was not sitting with his feet crossed, but rather in the more formal position. It was unusual when they ate together, in fact Arthur had only ever seen Saito kneel in seiza when they shared one meal with Eames. Surely this could not be a good reflection on where he and Saito stood.

****

The wound Arthur had dealt him had yet to fully heal.

****

He mused on this for a time, sullen as he took pieces of meat from his bowl. However, the silence between them was not a comfortable one and it soon became more than Arthur could bear.

****

“Your cook Akio,” He began, licking his lips, “Is voicing doubts about what kind of meat you’re giving him.”

****

Saito trilled a bundle of noodles in his hashi. He did not appear surprised. “Are his doubts being echoed by other members of my staff?”

****

“No.” Arthur plucked a thick chunk of meat from his bowl, sank his fangs in with relish. “But most of them haven’t taken a liking to me. They are respectful of course,” He hastened to add when Saito looked at him sharply. “I don’t think they realize I notice it.”

****

Saito set his bowl down, dabbing at his mouth with a bit of cloth. “Even so, it can take only a single whisper of doubt for questions to be raised and answers sought. I will deal with Akio.”

****

“Will you kill him?” Arthur asked.

****

“I do not believe that will be necessary. There are many other methods I have at my disposal that will silence him. His death would only raise suspicion amongst the staff.”

****

Arthur nodded, “I have never thanked you before,” he glanced his stew before looking back at Saito. “For being willing to shed blood for me.”

****

Saito regarded him silently for a moment before responding. “When you are bound, deeply, with another often there is no act of devotion that appears too great.”

****

Arthur traced a few strands of hair with his claws. “Among merfolk there is no higher symbol of bonding than the act of sharing one's blood or flesh with another.”

****

“I see.” Saito set his hands in his lap. All his attention now on Arthur. “Have you experienced it before?”

****

“No,” Arthur swiped his tongue over his fangs, holding Saito’s stare. “I am still considered a youth among my kind as I have never mated nor bonded with another vetsalka.”

****

Such a fact had not troubled him before. Although Arthur had been courted before on more than one occasion he’d refused each vetsalka’s advances through besting them in combat, proving his dominance.

****

He watched Saito wipe at his mouth with a cloth, feeling heat stir at the sharp curiosity in his gaze. It thrilled Arthur to witness a mind so plentiful at work. His meal momentarily cast aside, he kept his focus on Saito intent.

****

“What do you feel?” Saito asked, fingering along the length of his hashi. “When you taste the flesh and blood of a human?”

****

Arthur inhaled slowly, taking in his lover’s scent, near salivating at the thought of being given such a gift from Saito again. Even if it was only being hinted at. He ran a hand through his hair, then brought it over his breasts, nails feather light on his skin. All the while Saito never took his eyes off of him.

****

“Normally, just fullness, but,” Arthur wrapped his hand around his throat, squeezed lightly. “When it was your blood in my mouth I felt warmth flooding me, caressing me.” Slowly he trailed his nails down from his pulse to his collarbone. “A rush like wind on skin, rich and so alive.” He stroked between his breasts, down to where his robe covered him.

****

The air between them felt thick, alight. Arthur could hear the minute shift in Saito’s pulse, how it rose with his words. With ease he swept his hair back behind his shoulders, baring the length of his neck and leaned forward.

****

“The blood you let me taste was a precious gift Daichi.” Arthur said. “May I gift you with mine in turn?”

****

Saito unfolded his legs, rising from his cushion with a grace that seemed inhuman to Arthur. He felt his own breathing quicken, the sinews of his muscles tighten in anticipation as Saito came to kneel beside him. The deep red of his robes as richly colored as the blood Arthur wished to offer him.

****

Saito’s hand was steady on Arthur, his long fingers pulling the robe he wore down past his left shoulder. Their pads held only a touch of roughness to them, were otherwise soft as they traced over Arthur’s pulse then carded through his hair. Unconsciously Arthur leaned into the touch, sighing, his eyes slipping closed. Until Saito’s other hand grasped his chin, tilting his head towards him.

****

When Arthur opened his eyes again Saito brushed a thumb over his lips.

****

“Yes.” Saito said.

****

The sensation of his nails elongating made Arthur shudder. With one claw he touched at his throat, cutting just below his pulse point and again felt a tremor run throughout his body at the first trickle of blood spilling out.

****

Saito cradled the back of his head with a tenderness that nearly stole Arthur’s breath. He panted the closer Saito’s lips came to his neck, then moaned deeply at the first swipe of tongue over his wound. His cry was echoed by Saito, who groaned and sealed his lips tight to Arthur’s throat, lapping greedily at his blood.

****

Arthur’s eyes nearly fell shut and he clutched at Saito’s robes. It was overwhelming, the hard sucks Saito gave his cut, hearing both their pulses rise to euphoric heights, the hammering of their heartbeats and the scent of arousal growing in the room. The red river inside him flowed in small streams from his neck, was drank with rapture by Saito.

****

Now he knew Arthur on a deeper level, a primal one.

****

Arthur wrapped his arms around Saito’s back, pressed himself as close to him as he could. Arthur let each moan and whimper fall from his lips unabated, no doubt ringing throughout the walls of the villa. By the time his blood flow ceased and Saito began peppering his wound with soft kisses, Arthur was shivering in his arms.

****

When Saito began to draw away Arthur made a short protesting noise, tried to catch his lips in a kiss. It was to no avail, although Saito looked upon him as though he nearly wished to stay as he was. In the end he returned to his cushion on the opposite end of the table.

****

“Thank you.” Saito’s words were sincere enough, though his expression gave nothing away.

 

Carefully, Arthur reached for Saito’s hand, threading their fingers together. On his knees he crawled around the table to come beside Saito, his robe slipping down further as he moved. Throughout Saito watched him in silence; Arthur could read nothing in his eyes, which slipped closed when he pressed his forehead against Saito’s temple. Nuzzling there gently, Arthur pressed the barest kiss over one of Saito’s eyelids.

****

“I long for you Daichi.” Arthur whispered as he pulled away.

****

Saito’s eyes opened and he took a deep breath. His expression was minutely softer than it had been. Still there was a fog of some emotion, some battle Arthur could not cross through to reach him.

****

“You have me, and will continue to,” Saito said, holding their joined hands up. “But not as you wish, not tonight.”

********  
  
  


*

******  
**  
****

Earlier in the afternoon Saito had accepted Kaori’s request to spend the night in his villa and to have asacha in his garden’s chashitsu the following morning. Of late there was rarely a time he could enjoy his sister’s company, occupied as she was by her children and irksome husband. Saito had known Ichirou since he had been a boy, and had never once held him in high regard. A lofty man whose will was all too pliable; not an ideal match for his sister.

****

Kaori arrived in the evening by carriage and spared no time making Saito aware that she knew he’d taken a new mistress. She was not a woman who took to being denied well but this was an issue on which Saito would readily match her resolve with his own. It was not yet the right time for her to meet Arthur.

****

Although he had accepted Arthur’s intimate offer of bonding, Saito was not yet ready to engage with him sexually again. His moment of weakness in the onsen haunted his thoughts. For the first time Arthur had truly seen him at the barest level, without the skin of decorum and duty that was Saito’s armor. And though Arthur had accepted him regardless, the fact that prior to it he had dealt Saito wound so deep was greatly unsettling. He was still at work refitting the pieces of his armor.

****

Even so, as Saito rose from his futon and dressed himself in a dark brown kimono, each time he swallowed there was a trace of flavor richer than any brew, more intoxicating than opiates. As if the taste of Arthur’s blood was forever imprinted inside his mouth.

****

Nevertheless Saito prepared and hosted the ceremony with ease. As he delicately ran a hemp cloth through his and Kaori’s shallow chawans each chip and irregularity in the bowl’s forms served as reminder to him that perfection was not a lasting concept. What should be prized was continuing to demonstrate grace and fortitude even after being dealt a loss.

****

Saito had withstood the loss of Mao, though he would never truly finish mourning her. The wound he bore from Arthur was not nearly as deep, neither was his momentary loss of emotional discipline. Both were healing.

****

Kaori was equally careful as she examined each utensil closely with hands clothed in lace gloves. “Anata wa jibun no tatchi no otōto o ushinatte imasendeshita.” She said, a small smile painting her lips. Kaori was clad in a peach bustle gown with a black bolero and matching jacket.

****

Saito gathered all the equipment then, placing them in their designated slots in the lacquered chabako he’d brought. Kaori gathered up the folds of her peach kimono, rose and stepped into her zori beside the chashitsu entryway. As she descended the steps and turned towards him Saito followed her to the doorway. knelt down and bowed from his waist, his hands sliding over his knees to touch the tatami floors.

****

“Daichi,” Kaori’s tone was more pressing now that the ceremony had ended. “Walk me through your garden?”

****

Her abrupt switch to English did not surprise Saito. Not far ahead of them stood his guards Kenta and Gorou. Several more were standing guard throughout the garden but Saito had purposely assigned Daisuke to shadow Arthur. The only guard in Saito’s employment who spoke English.

****

“Of course sister,” Saito stepped down towards her, holding out his arm which she took in hand. He did not miss the glance Kaori and Kenta shared as they passed him.

****

“Your evening was pleasant I trust?” He asked Kaori.

****

She did not smile but her eyes were bright. “Yes, I was given much relaxation and had a most peaceful rest.”

****

Had Kenta been a man of their status, Saito would have easily attempted to sway their father into betrothing Kaori with him over Ichirou. Years of dutiful service gave Kenta the position of being one of the guards Saito relied on the most and he held the proper respect for women of an esteemed upbringing such as Kaori.

****

The only time Kenta spoke of her was while in her company, in private. Late one evening Saito had been walking through his villa to see Kaori and outside her room heard Kenta address her only as “wild flower” as if her name itself was too high for him to voice.

****

He knew Ichirou often sought the company of whores and geishas, unappreciative of how much a blessing his sister was to him and his business. So long as Kaori continued to behave discreetly with her affair, if she wished to use Kenta for pleasure Saito found no reason to object.

 

“I am told you’ve been far more at ease as well since you plucked your water lily from the riverside.” Kaori continued. “Yet you deny me the pleasure of meeting her. Perhaps the staff are right to be wary?”

****

Saito let out a chuckle as they came towards the small bridge overlooking his pond. Water lily, not quite a fitting description for Arthur. “I know how cutting your tongue can be sister. Give me time to prepare her for you. ”

****

“Is she so soft?”

****

“She is anything but.”

****

“Fine, but know while you lie with her your servants whisper.”

****

That made Saito pause. “They speak freely?”

****

“No, not all of them. You’ve yet to master the art of coaxing women to confide in you. A far more gentling touch is required, Mao was much better than I in that regard.” Kaori’s tone took on a wistful note. “She could temper herself with warmth. But I was able to get Chiyo to come to me in private.” Her gaze narrowed. “Your kitchen staff is growing restless brother, several are wondering why whale meat must be housed and prepared so separate from the rest of your dishes. There’s speculation among a few as to whether what you are giving them is indeed whale meat at all.”

****

Saito watched her look down at the koi in his pond, already considering additional methods with which to contain this issue. “Akio speaks like the wind it would seem.”

****

To that Kaori nodded. “Your guards are quick silence such talk, but there is more. The rest of your house staff are becoming more wary of your water lily. Most go on about their duties but Chiyo has tried to spy on her as she ate. Kenta stopped her.” She trailed a finger over the railing and Saito felt a familiar stir of pride rise at the coldness in her expression as she continued. “And like a fool she told all this to me. You must quell these murmurings soon Daichi. I know how disciplined your staff are but fear can conquer discipline if it grows high enough. They must remember to fear your wrath above all else.”

****

Saito did not tell her he knew this already, for Kaori’s concerns were well-founded and it was unlike him to take a mistress into his household.

****

So he gave her a small nod of acceptance. “I assure you sister. I will sever all sources of these whispers at the tongue. Chiyo’s shall be easy to quell, for she has an ailing husband and a child in her womb. As for Akio and my cooking staff, I shall need to make use of your butchery shop earlier than usual.”

****

“Very well. Ichiro trusts my guidance, it will not take much to sway him in an appropriate direction on this. But I have my own question I wish to have answered, no more than the essential details, brother.” Kaori added when Saito’s brow rose. “Your water lily then, must be someone you will go to great lengths to protect. Is she truly worthy of your devotion?”

****

As his guards had informed him, Arthur had not sought Captain Eames’ company to fill the carnal absence Saito left him to endure, even though it was clear he craved sexual release. That, and the act of bonding they’d performed just last night, left not a doubt in Saito’s mind.

****

“Yes.”

****

 

 

*

 

 

Arthur was drowning. At least, he felt he was experiencing the crushing pressure, the seizing of his throat with a need to pull in something. Salt water, _flesh_.

****

Weeks had passed since he’d laid with either Eames or Saito. As he took a midday soak in the wooden tub of Saito’s ofuro Arthur felt an all too familiar stir of longing. Amplified by the pounding ache in his head.

****

The pull between nature and ambitions constantly burned within him. He’d done so well, resisted the urge to devour his lovers after mating with them both. Having spent over a month living on land, Arthur had been able to stave off his cravings through the meals Eames and Saito brought him, as well as the pleasure they wrung from his body. Yet now it wasn’t enough to silence the primal desire to consume such readily available nourishment.

****

Arthur found himself in the uncomfortable position of struggling to adapt.

****

Lightly, he scratched the sharp tips of his claws over his arms. He frowned. The skin of his kindred were thicker than any humans but deceptively smooth to touch. An effective lure for potential mates; softness in the flesh drew such prey more than infinite riches. However, although freshly moisturized, Arthur’s skin retained a coarser texture than usual. Warm bathing water; the hotter temperatures of Saito’s onsen alone were no longer enough to suffice Arthur’s need. Natural waters called for him; pleas to at last forsake this foolish venture and return to his true home.

****

Arthur felt his body’s plight strongest in his throat and stomach. Famine made his mouth boil hot, hungry. Now the scent of every human walking throughout Saito’s villa, the seductive beats of their blood thrumming steadily in palpable pulse points flooded Arthur’s senses. He starved for the taste of them. Already black fluid seeped from his lips, slid low off his chin. Venom long neglected.

****

A soft growl bubbled in Arthur’s throat. He licked his lips, leaned back against the ofuro, his eyelids closing.

****

He _needed_ -but he couldn’t, but…

****

Arthur’s eyes opened, his pupils widening. Instinct overcoming ambition.

******  
**  


His claws began to retract. Not fully, only enough to appear indulgently human. It wouldn’t do to rouse unease so soon. Arthur had sensed Kenta, one of Saito’s most favored guards, watching him bathe for quite some time. Keen eyes lingered on his back even now. Anticipation stirred Arthur’s arousal high, he nearly laughed. He’d yet to even taste the man’s blood and still the thought alone had him arching his back as he sat upright; far more seduction than he’d require.

****

Eames and Saito fed him well but nothing could compare to the tear of human muscle straight from the bones in his teeth.

****

Arthur kept his head tilted back for a short moment, breathing deep. Kenta did not smell as appealing as Saito but he would do fine.  As he began to rise he let one shoulder dip lower than the other, curved his waist out to the right. Rivulets of water ran over his skin while the cool afternoon air peaked nipples still hidden from Kenta’s sight. Arthur slowly ran his hands up over his back, through his hair, drawing the heavy waves over his shoulder. He allowed several tresses to fall back in place. Bared more of his body to Kenta and his sensitive ears picked up a telltale hitch of breath.

****

His own breathing relaxed further, long inhales and exhales pushing his soothing toxin into the air. Arthur pressed his arms over his breasts as he’d seen more demure women do often. Hands resting on his shoulders he turned his head to meet Kenta’s eyes.

****

He held a hand out, “Kenta-san, tasukete kudasai…”

****

His voice held faint concern.  A small puddle of water had splashed onto the floor while the clothing Saito insisted Arthur attempt to wear laid on the bench just outside his reach. Kenta was beside him at once, cradling Arthur’s hand in his as he helped him step out of the tub.

****

Arthur walked Kenta backwards until his knees hit the bench. In such close proximity his arms wove around broad shoulders before Kenta could politely move away. “Arigatō ,” he whispered, nuzzling into the man’s neck.

****

Kenta was tall, bulkier than Saito or Eames. Arthur had to stand on the tips of his toes to breathe in his pulse. His fingertips carded gently though short hair. It drew a laugh from Kenta, pleased, as his arms circled Arthur’s waist.  

****

“Okusama,” he asked, “samishiika? Anata wa machi de zutto kaisha o motte ita ni chigai arimasen..."

****

Arthur could feel Kenta’s erection press through his trousers against his belly. He moaned softly, sweet, shook his head.

****

“Onaka suita, totemo kūfuku”

****

He took a step back, eyes sweeping over Kenta’s clothed form. It was hint enough for the guard to begin disrobing with haste. When he was nude Arthur’s lips parted, one outstretched hand scratching along thick black chest hair. In manner similar to Saito’s, there was an image of a ferocious tiger roaming through the mountain wilderness etched onto his skin. It spanned down to his forearms and above his knees. Arthur gasped and slid his fingers up to Kenta’s collarbone, over the spiral of a tree branch, urging him to sit on the bench.

****

Kenta obeyed him, far too earnest, spread his legs wide. His cock an inviting curve on his belly, nestled in a patch of curls at his groin and all over his thighs. Painted the color of mountains and trees. Arthur rewarded him with a few wet pants of breath as he let his hands rest on Kenta’s knees. Bending down, he kissed him, licking in to slick Kenta’s mouth with his saliva. He swirled his tongue lazily for a while and when Arthur was certain enough of his toxin had been transmitted to render Kenta motionless he pulled away. No need to wipe the dark smudges from his lips. The human was far too aroused to immediately become alarmed.

****

Besides those sharp eyes were fixed on Arthur’s swaying breasts as he began to kneel between his legs, and a groan echoed from the human’s mouth when he moved closer until he pressed into the other man’s skin. Arthur’s bosom trailed from a rigid abdomen, hairs tickling his nipples, down to a solid pelvis. On his knees he never took his eyes off the human’s face. Even as he gathered his cock from its bed of curls to rest between the valley of his breasts, used his hands to push them firmly together.

****

The human’s moans were loud as Arthur rubbed and rubbed, made the head of his erection peek out from his foreskin and his cock harden until streams of pre-spending wept from its tip. They left sticky smudges on Arthur’s already wet chest and he began to whimper, moving his hands faster.

****

His tresses were in disorder, strewn about his face and shoulders, bearing only patchwork peeks of him. They swept over his prey’s thighs and member, tickling his coarser hair. Arthur released the cock from his breasts and brought that hard flesh to his lips. Gave first a small tease of his mouth’s scorching heat with a kiss to its crown. He was near feverish with hunger by now and without further preamble he sucked the human in deep enough his cockhead nudged Arthur’s throat.

****

His resulting pleased growl rang over the shout his prey gave. His member throbbed on Arthur’s tongue, fluid pouring out in pulses that felt cool compared to the burn of his mouth. With a hum Arthur’s nails extended the faintest amount. He raked them through the hair all down the human’s chest and stomach, his other hand sinking into the flesh of his hip. He could feel his desire to thrust along with the first buddings of alarm when his pleasure receded enough for him to register the muscles descending from his neck no longer responded to his mind’s command.

****

Arthur had been generous enough to allow him the ability to speak though that too now departed. Lathing his tongue along a vein his moan was deep and husky right before he sunk the full length of his claws into his prey’s flesh. The thick wave of agony he felt sent Arthur’s lashes fluttering, his eyes rolling back a moment. He savored it even as he moved to heighten the flood; biting down at the base of the human’s member.

****

He felt his fangs puncture through the fragile layers of tissue, blood accelerating to multiple arteries. Felt the trapped thrashing, the scream his human could no longer voice as Arthur yanked his head away, tearing the organ off in the process. Arthur quickly spat it onto the floor and returned his attention to the wound. His mouth and neck were painted red as he buried his head between those thick thighs, lapping at the hot spurts of blood, clawing the remaining scrotum to ribbons when its flow lost some strength.

Arthur’s ears heard the frantic staccato of footsteps long before they reached the wooden bath floors. Men; two humans were approaching. Earthly waters had given him many songs to sing; some lures, others warnings. He abandoned them all in favor of a snarl which bellowed so far from within himself his whole frame tensed. Ready to strike out once more. The intruders stilled.

****

They’d best remain that way. Or leave to find their meals elsewhere; he’d devour them next if need be.

Except-

****

“Arthur, Arthur!” it took him time to attach Saito’s name, his startled features, to the frantic voice.

****

Arthur paused, sniffed the air enough to separate Eames and Saito’s scents from the beguiling fragrance of blood and bodily fluids. Kenta’s heart had stopped. His head was slumped down on his chest, pupils wide and glazed over. Arthur’s claws sank deeper into a thigh. He managed a word, “Soon” before retrieving the severed cock. Arthur consumed the flesh faster than he’d normally prefer. His humans were waiting after all.

****

They didn’t waiver at the sight of him. So satisfied was Arthur by that he smiled, incisors on display. Red soaked his mouth, running in dark rivulets down his neck, breasts. All over him. And still Eames’ eyes tracked its steady dripping off peaked nipples. Still Saito lingered on his erect sex and the sticky patches of blood blotting his thighs. In spite of the fear Arthur could smell on them.

Neither moved toward him though. Arthur frowned, at last rising to his feet.

****

Eames finally spoke, “Arthur, why? You told us you would only need this after three days and we’ve been following that!”

****

Arthur licked the corner of his mouth, his head pounding once more as further clarity returned to him. He stared at the lump of Kenta’s body in silence, feeling a chill course through his flesh. All his efforts seemed to fall apart before him. He could no longer bear to face Eames or Saito. Mindful of Saito’s insistences, he slipped into the stained robe. It was not like him to flee, yet he did not feel safe alone in the room with the two of them. No matter how dear they were to him.

****

He needed to regather himself.

****

With the robe slung haphazardly about him, hanging low on his arms, Arthur stepped towards the fusamas. He could feel both their stares as they gave him a wide breadth of space to leave. At the doorway Arthur stopped, turning towards them. Fangs now safely tucked away.

****

“I’m sorry.”

********  
  
  


********  
  
  



	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hover your mouse over the Japanese and Polish for translations.

 

Whatever sight Eames had dreadfully anticipated greeting him when he’d felt a chill run throughout his body as he and Minister Saito had arrived back at the villa, the grotesque image of Arthur knelt between a bloody and dismembered corpse was not among them. No sooner had Arthur departed then Eames retrieved a wooden bucket from the floor and wretched violently.

When at last his stomach contractions ceased Eames wearily looked up to find Saito eyeing him with distaste. Bloody bastard. It spoke far better of Eames’ character that he was so repulsed by what he’d witnessed. He was not given a chance to voice such thoughts, Saito was already leaving, following Arthur’s path. And Arthur had not ventured far.

Eames could hear them conversing in Japanese in the room just outside the bathing house. Saito’s voice was stern, as urgent as Arthur’s.

“Anata wa watashi ni ko no koto ni tsuite hanashite kureta hazudesu”

“ Watashi wa sore o hikitsugu koto ga dekiru to omotta.” Arthur said.

“Shikashi, anata wa shimasendeshita. Ima watashitachi wa kare o shobun shi, kare no fuzai o setsumei shinakereba narimasen.”

His close proximity might as well have gone unnoticed. A frantic part of Eames was grateful for the opportunity to slip away and not have to deal with the aftermath. Reality, however, was stark and inescapable. There was only one way in or out of this room, and he could no longer remain willfully ignorant.

So whatever course of action Saito and Arthur were discussing, Eames had to make himself a part of it, whether it pleased them or not.

“There is a language all of us speaks,” He announced as he stepped into the room. “Care to enlighten me as to what you’re discussing?”

Saito eyed him sharply, no doubt holding a rebuttal on his tongue, but Arthur spoke before he could respond. “I’m sorry, I thought I could withstand the effects of being out of the water for so long. But my hunger, my yearning grows. I cannot carry on this way.”

To Eames’ surprise, Saito voiced precisely what he’d been thinking. “You’re not going back.” He said, with firm conviction. “There must be another way to satiate you.”

Arthur’s hesitant expression unnerved Eames. All the paths he imagined laid before them were bleak, but none more so than the possibility that Arthur, a force who had come into his life so suddenly and captivated him would be gone just as quickly. The anger which he had been quietly dwelling in evaporated in the face of his alarm. As well as the realization of how deep his feelings ran.

“Tell us darling,” Eames pressed, focusing his attention on Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur glanced at Saito before he answered. “There is another way. Youthful flesh satiates me longer than what you have been giving me…”

“Youthful?” Eames repeated, his heart pounding as he knew well the implications.

Saito’s expression was unreadable to him. “A child.” He said, far too calm  given what Arthur was asking for. However it appeared he was debating this option, as he turned away from Arthur and Eames, until he was once more facing the grim sight in the bathing room.

“Yes.” Arthur said.

Never would Eames claim to be a good or even decent man. Any moral fibre he possessed was flexible in certain circumstance. But never before had he even contemplated the notion of murdering a child. It was extreme, it was ruthless.

And it was the only way to keep Arthur with him.

On the precipice of the ultimate act of condemnation on his soul, Eames measured all he stood to lose if he walked down this path against the weight of everything he felt he gained by having Arthur in his life. When the scales fell in his mind, their outcome saw Eames moving beside Saito, his voice low as he spoke.

“Whatever it takes to keep him here, do it.”

Saito gazed at him coolly, “So you are willing to be a knowing accomplice, Captain Eames?” He asked. “Pray tell, what do you imagine _you_ will gain from this?”

“Don’t be daft,” Eames bit off, “This feud between us over him can be settled. Your greed will drive him back into the ocean. I say we each be allowed our time with him, without interference from the other.”

They regarded each other in silence for a moment. Clearly neither held Eames proposal in particular favor. For his part Eames was willing to be a more generous man, for the time being. Already in his mind he was contemplating the future, and possible ways in which Arthur could be his and his alone. But such ambitions would have to wait for now.

Saito nodded, “Leave us,” He told Eames as he turned away. To Arthur he said, “You must finish the meal you’ve made of my guard, as much as you can consume now.”

Arthur shrugged off his bloodstained robe, craning his neck up with a snarl as his fangs extended. Eames watched as they slowly covered his human appearing teeth, until he saw only a sea of sharp tipped white and a red, red mouth. He looked away, putting a good measure of space between them as he walked towards the doors.

The image he departed with, of Saito closing the fusuma doors and, further behind him, long pale legs crawling on a blood soaked floor up to a lifeless body, stayed with him the remainder of the day.

 

*

 

Saito was not a man who held those who were ruled solely by their emotions in favor. There was a degree of wildness to such individuals, more akin to animals than human. That being said instincts were of course to be refined and given a certain degree of weight. When a man’s soul felt moved, truly moved, it meant something. And from the moment he had seen Arthur in person at Arakawa, Saito had felt a gradual binding of their souls together. The lengths he was willing to venture to in order to preserve this bond were far, a fact not lost upon him.

Prior to coaxing Arthur from the river, on more than one occasion Saito had questioned if his vetsalka was worthy of such steadfast devotion, of such ruthlessness. In Arthur’s eyes, in his careful touch, Saito had witnessed an emotion so often proclaimed but rarely found in its most genuine form. They felt the same for one another.

And so he had known on the morning he’d ventured out to bring Arthur to his villa, this was a union he would kill for.

Even so, Saito would never had risen to such prominence if he’d lacked a strong sense of reason. It was clear that eventually Arthur would have to make routine pilgrimages to the river, staying on land indefinitely was impossible. In the meantime the young flesh Arthur required to remain in the villa currently could be provided.

As the burakumin were not a populace his people regarded favorably, thus far the missing men and stolen corpses he’d served Arthur had failed to raise alarm among those in their society who truly mattered. It was not uncommon for poorer individuals to sell young members of their own family for financial gain. He did not need to seize a child, he merely had to name his price.

Saito was in one of the many back rooms of a tavern owned by a wakagashira _ninkyō dantai_ member, watching impassively as Akio was restrained by his guards while sharpened sticks of bamboo were pushed underneath his son’s fingernails. Before this they had broken the fingers on his left hand, one by one. Even if the boy’s muffled cries were heard above the chatter and music echoing from the den, they fell on deaf ears.

This was yet another territory where Saito reigned supreme, regardless of how reluctantly Masaru Fujioka had bequeathed these backrooms to him tonight. Everyone knew their place and to keep to their own business. The latter fact Saito could see was being well ingrained on Akio as he was forced to watch. He quivered on his knees, pale and horrified.

“Watashi wa sore ga kore ni kita koto ni shitsubō shite iru, “ Saito’s expression remained unmoved as he spoke. “Watashi wa issho ni nan-nen mo issho ni anata ni hijō ni kandaideatta. Shikashi, anata wa watashi ni ihan shita. ”

They both watched as the last of the bamboo was inserted into the boy’s thumb. Saito gestured with his hand and in slow, deliberate succession each stick was pulled out. Through the cloth they’d tied around the boy’s mouth, they could hear choked-off cries and gags. He was thrown before Akio’s feet when the last stick was extracted. Saito moved beside him.

“ Anata ga watashi o futatabi ōdan suru to omou mae ni, kore o oboete imasu.”

Akio made a hitched sob, dragging his son into his arms, bowing frantically at Saito as he struggled to leave. “W-watashi o yurushite  .”

Saito departed soon afterwards, stepping into his awaiting carriage. The moon was a bright presence in the the night sky, but his work was not yet complete. Indeed, the moon and otherworldly spirits would be the sole witnesses to the act he was about to commit.

He had been  taught that this life was merely preparation for the afterlife. His crimes were as numerous as his triumphs. But Saito was prepared to do his time in Naraka, to suffer, knowing that when his karma had reached its precipice he would be reborn. In another, higher world he would be reunited with Mao as well as Arthur, his love and his water spirit her soul had given visible form to. So that he may be led down a path that brought him to her.

There was a tap on the carriage door. Saito opened it, accepting the small bundle wrapped in blankets that Daisuke held and closed the door once more. Per his orders the child was a boy.

A delicate, helpless individual. Sacrificed as a symbol of the depth of his devotion to Arthur and a reminder to his vetsalka not to prove his feelings unjustified.

Saito gathered a handful of the blankets and held it tight over the boy’s slumbering face.

 

*

 

In all honesty, when Eames was informed by Daisuke that Minister Saito had requested an audience with him for the night’s supper, he’d been of a mind to tell him precisely where he could place such a request. He had spent most of his time attempting to come to terms with what he had committed himself to, with what he had witnessed. A pointless endeavor, it only brought Eames discomfort and distraction to dwell on critical choices he’d made. It quickly became apparent that only being able to see this path through to the end would justify the means he took to keep Arthur in his life.

So he dressed himself for this sodded affair, in the finest clothing he had, his naval uniform. There was no mirror for Eames to study himself in, nothing to indicate how presentable or infallible he appeared but his own instinct. He had been caught off guard before by Minister Saito. Now, with their bargain to share Arthur between the two of them, he could not afford to appear feeble in his devotion.

He parted the sliding doors to his room, intending to set off for the same area which he had dined with Saito and Arthur before, but Daisuke appeared, halting his process.

“Saito-sama will be dining in a different room tonight,” He told Eames, clipped in tone. “Come, I will lead you there.”

Eames kept pace with him, striding through the halls and interconnected rooms upright in his posture, though the space between the walls appeared to have grown smaller. And try as he might, he could not will his heart to calm itself. He was being led to an area of the villa of which he had never been allowed access to before.

They stopped before a sliding door painted with a mountain scenery, a tiger scaling through its slopes. Slowly Eames uncurled his fingers at his sides as Daisuke parted them. Unsure yet again of what he would see. Immediately his eyes were drawn to the long, mahogany table in the center of the room. It was a mistake, to be so blatantly caught off guard, but Eames barely had time to recover himself before Arthur was before him.

“Eames,” He said, his voice soft and he began to reach for Eames’ hand before abruptly halting himself. “I am very glad you came.”

Eames locked eyes with Saito from where he sat at the head of the table, bolding grasping Arthur’s hand and placing a kiss to his knuckles. “I would not pass an opportunity to see you darling.”

Arthur appeared surprised, but pleased by his response. He had his hair braided in the same manner Eames had performed for him, though loose strands hung about his face and shoulders. Eames let Arthur intwine their fingers, lead him towards the table, admiring the long length of his neck.

Eames was seated to Saito’s left, Arthur his right. It had been far too long since his back had this kind of proper support from an upholstered cushioned chair. He was silently grateful; but kept that fact to himself.  The lights weren’t on, instead several candles lit in the room cast Arthur in the most distracting glow. Particularly his pale skin meeting the burst of red and orange on his kimono.

Saito gave him a small nod, no doubt superficial in sentiment. “It is indeed good of you to join us, Captain.”

He clapped his hands before allowing Eames a chance to respond. Two women and the young boy served them their meals, a large porcelain bowl of broth and noodles placed before Arthur. At least, from what Eames could see, that was all the contents the bowl held.

Revulsion over having to witness this consumption began to well within him. Glancing at Saito, Eames found he was being given a look he could only describe as knowing.

His jaw clenched. He swallowed down his reservations, his disgust and turned his attention back to Arthur, who was not invested in his food, but staring intently at Saito. Eames could see that he was breathing deeper, slower and as Arthur licked his lips, as he placed his hand above Saito’s, dread tightened Eames’ gut once more.

“Daichi,” Arthur said, his nails lightly trailing along the inside of Saito’s wrist, where one could feel another’s pulse. “You honor me with this…”

The look Saito gave Arthur as he rose from his seat; Eames felt as though he were standing on the banks of Arakawa all over again. Once more an intruder. He swallowed hard.

But Arthur’s gaze was upon him then, a huskiness to his voice, his breasts pushing together in the dip in his kimono as he leaned forward. “And you as well Eames.”

A very potent mixture of arousal and fear interwove itself within Eames. He could not find the words, the breath to reply. Not as Saito brought forth the lifeless body of an infant, wrapped in black silk blankets. To which he presented to Arthur, who accepted the child with a deeply inhaled breath. He cradled it in his arms as though he were its mother, with the sharp tip of a claw trailing over its cheek.

Arthur pulled the top of his kimono down off his shoulders and arms, baring himself. As he rocked back and forth, his mouth opened, nothing but rows of fangs and the blackness that laid behind them. Eames willed with every fortitude he had in himself to keep his eyes open as those white fangs pierced a fleshy belly, tearing away a chunk. He chewed slowly, and swallowed as though he were in a state of rapture.

“It’s delicious,” Arthur took Saito’s hand as he reseated himself, wove their fingers together. Kissed each fingertip. “I thank you for your devotion. Know that I return it a hundredfold,” He caught Eames’ eyes, “The both of you.”

They ate in relative silence. It was no slight challenge for Eames to keep down his own meal, but he managed. In time it would become easier, as simple as Saito made it appear. He ate at a leisurely pace, occasionally glancing at Arthur who was tearing pieces of the child apart to dip into his broth. Its bones were discarded into a small bowl.

Once Arthur had finished he began to wash his hands and mouth in a bowl of water. As he did his gaze traveled from Saito to Eames and there was an altogether different sort of hunger in those eyes. One that did not fill Eames with dread, but an electric sort of anticipation that had him clutching at his fork, his cock beginning to harden.

Arthur pulled his kimono back up, rising from his seat. Although Eames did not intend to stare, he found himself unable to look away as Saito pushed his chair back and Arthur slid gracefully down into his lap. He ran his tongue up Saito’s neck before grasping his chin and pressing their mouths together, a soft moan tumbling from his lips. Saito ran his fingers in Arthur’s hair, then parted the top of his kimono slightly. He kissed the bare swell of a breast, while Arthur whispered something husky to him.

“Watashi wa kono tame ni akogarete iru ōku no yoru  .”

Eames was about to protest again being left in the dark, but his words dried in his throat as all at once that heated gaze was focused solely on him. Arthur moved away from Saito, hips swaying as he rounded the table towards Eames. He touched Eames’ bottom lip with the tip of his thumb claw, before guiding him to his breasts. Eames groaned, kissing the one Saito had neglected before biting that soft flesh hard, thrilling at the moan his attentions drew.

Arthur leaned down, kissing the pulse point on Eames’ neck. “You should finish your meal. I’ll be waiting Eames.” He told him, as if he had not just presented himself as a feast far superior to anything on the table.

“Waiting where?” Eames asked, catching Arthur’s wrist.

Arthur’s cheeks dimpled. “You will be brought to me. To _us_.”

He silenced Eames’s reply with a deep kiss. An erotic promise shone in those eyes, even as Arthur and Saito departed together, the bones taken with them.

Eames ate the remainder of his meal alone, in the candlelight, still able to smell the scent of salt that clung to Arthur’s skin. He barely took in the flavor of his food, the taste of his tea. Rather he held his silverware tightly, the texture and taste of Arthur’s breast clinging to his tongue. The image of Saito’s hand pressed to the small of his back as they left and the question of what exactly had been laid out to him in offering.

 

*

 

Arthur  carded his hands through his hair, now free of its braid, enjoying the feel of it clinging to his skin. Tilting his head back, he kept his lips parted as warm water was poured down his naked form. Saito’s fingers flowed the cascading path, caressing him. A touch that was possessive, showing a thirst Arthur would soon quench.

Shudders ran through him at the mere thought, his two mates would be joined through his body, their passion sure to ravish him as he craved it to. And in turn he would hold them in rapture, give them pleasure beyond this realm. This union was vital and he was wet within in his hunger for it.

Saito pressed himself flush against his back, his hardness settling between Arthur’s thighs. He gave him his mouth, his tongue, moaning as his hair was pulled and his breast greedily cupped. Fingers rolled his nipple, pinching and Arthur’s own cock swelled further.

“Is it truly necessary,” Saito asked between kisses. “For us to wait for him?”

“If he enters and sees you taking me, he will leave.”

He could feel Saito’s teeth when he smiled. “Then he is weak. And not worth your passion.”

“Daichi,” Arthur clicked his tongue. “You told me you welcomed this.”

“Yes aijin, but that does not require me to yield to him.”

“Then,” Arthur turned in his arms, scratching Saito’s shoulders. He nipped at his chin. “Let me yield to both your desires. Allow me to take him and seize what remains of my body as your own.”

His mouth was taken in again, in a kiss much softer and slower than before. Arthur’s skin tingled from his lust, a song echoing from his lips when they were freed. Not meant to lure,as he had the last time, but to invite.

Saito’s hands rested on his swaying hips, trailing up his flank, over his breasts, to tangle his fingers in Arthur’s hair as he moved to the rhythm of his melody. Arthur reached up behind himself, scratching lightly through Saito’s own hair and over the nape of his neck. Eames’ scent grew closer to their room, heavy and stirring as always.

The fusumas were parted and Eames stepped into their room with haste. His heartbeat was a rapid patter in Arthur’s ear, quickening when his gaze fell on Arthur wrapped in Saito’s embrace. He did not proceed further towards them but that was fine. With his song still falling from his lips, in mere whispers now, Arthur walked towards him.

Eames’ focus wavered, pausing on Saito’s bare form for a moment before he turned his attention back to Arthur. His arousal was palpable to Arthur’s senses, entwined with an intriguing mix of apprehension and curiosity.

Arthur licked at Eames’ neck, his fingers undoing the many buttons and lapels of his uniform. He nipped gently at that tender skin, drawing a rough moan from Eames, who took Arthur’s face was cupped by in his hands, dragging him up into a kiss. Arthur licked into his mouth, let out a moan of his own when his lips were bitten. Saito’s teeth caught his earlobe, biting a line down to his neck, kneading Arthur’s breasts in his hands.

His hardness was pushing against Arthur’s bottom, its length long and the flesh hot. Eames let go of Arthur’s face to remove his uniform jacket and shove down his trousers. He had a shorter, thicker member and its head nudged against Arthur’s cock, slighter than both of theirs.

Eames kissed at the valley between Arthur’s breasts before halting, meeting Saito’s eyes. Arthur felt the tension in the room rise as Eames stood to his full height but did not move away. However Saito’s breathing was steady and Arthur gasped, feeling his aggression mount right before Saito reached across him and grasped Eames’ neck, wrenching him forward into a rough kiss.

Arthur let out a moan, arching with both their bodies pressed so snugly against him. Eames’  heartbeat stuttered, and he grunted, refusing to back down from the kiss. Both of their cocks grew harder. Even more so when Saito’s teeth sunk into Eames’ bottom lip hard. Blood spotted the flesh when Saito abruptly let him go and Arthur was quick to capture it with his own mouth, suckling.

Slowly, the tip of his claws ran from the pulse on Eames’ neck, over his collarbones, teasing through thick hairs on his chest to rest above his heart. Arthur leaned down to scent him closer, the air he pulled in heavy with Eames’ musk, heavier than the venom kindling in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around a nipple, arching as Saito’s hand brushed up the curve of his spin, smoothing through his hair.

Arthur rolled his hips, listening to his men pant, groan around him. The sound of their pleasure sent heat coiling up his back. Pulsing through his blood. A husky moan rumbled in his throat. His breasts were taken in Eames’ hands, kneaded hard.

He hissed his pleasure, dragged back up against Saito’s chest by his hand tangled in his hair. Arthur’s tresses flew about his face while his eyes rolled as Saito stole his lips in a biting kiss, one of his hands holding his neck. He might have spoken one or both their names, hoarse, enveloped by their bodies as they moved down to the floor. So much heat he found himself surrounded by it and moaned wantonly, knowing it would only grow hotter as the evening wore on.

 

*

 

Saito sat at the table in his study, a handscroll laid out before him, applying delicate brush strokes of paint to the silk. A long stream of black cascading down the curvature of a slender body, before falling into blue waters. The sprouting of grass along a riverbank. Arthur’s hand held in his own.

This was an emakimono he had been delicately tending to for months now. A visual account of his and Arthur’s journey, the union of their souls and bodies.

Weeks had passed since his evening tryst with Arthur and Captain Eames. A deceptive peace had settled into their interactions. Arthur moved freely between each of their arms but Saito was not so foolish as to believe this calm would last. Sooner or later Captain Eames would attempt to seize Arthur from him entirely. Time however, was on Saito’s side. Eames would not be in Japan indefinitely, the day would come when he would be summoned back to his country.

Meanwhile the bond between Arthur and himself was only growing deeper each day.

He paused momentarily upon hearing the fusumas part before resuming his work, a smile forming on his face. By now he recognized the quiet footsteps entering his study very well. Indeed, he accepted the pressure of Arthur’s body moulding against his back, his chin resting on Saito’s shoulder. As if they were becoming one.

“It’s beautiful,” Arthur whispered, turning to press his nose into Saito’s hair, to inhale his scent. “Like you.”

He felt Arthur’s lips curve into a smile against the shell of his ear. Saito set down his brush. “We have a problem.”

“Oh?” Arthur hissed, moving to sit beside him. “What sort of problem?”

“Betrayal.”  Saito took one of Arthur’s hands, studying the fine lines on his palm. “Today an underling who has been spying on Fujioka informed me he wishes to make an attempt on my life. It appears a certain cook of mine made implications that I was behind the disappearances of several bukaramin, a sect of the population Fujioka is a member of.”

Arthur bared his fangs. “I will kill them.”

“Of course _we_ will,” Saito kissed his palm. “In due time. There are blessings I must acquire from an individual before we can handle Fujioka. I have already sent word of my request, and am merely awaiting a response. As for Akio, I’ve put him on indefinite leave from my service, when the time is right we will deal with him as well.”

“ _ Mój księżyc _,“ Arthur said, kissing his cheek. “I will follow whatever course you set.

They both smiled at one another, looking down at their hands clasped together.

 

*

 

The five days that followed Saito’s disclosure were heavy with anticipation for Arthur. He had eagerly awaited Akio’s return to service, knowing it would be the day he feasted on that plump body.

He would not be the only one Arthur would consume today. Saito had arranged to host his enemy this evening, serving him the last meal Akio prepared. In the afternoon sky, the falling sun burnt a scorching orange color.

Arthur floated in the onsen’s heated waters, feeling the steady pulse of his own blood churning, rising with his hunger. Venom laid thick in his mouth, coating his rows of fangs. Any moment now Akio would arrive to serve him a stew, unaware that he himself was the true delicacy of the meal. The first of two.

He sighed, feeling the unsteady flutter of another’s pulse nearing him. Arthur did not yet allow his claws to extend, lest he startle his prey. No, he would have to lure him in close, then strike.

The fusumas parted slowly, Akio stepping forward with his eyes fixed to the ground. Even so Arthur sat up straighter, water dripping off the tips of his nipples. Without giving him a glance Akio advanced close enough to set the bowl within Arthur’s reach on nearby rocks, yet far enough for himself to remain out of his grasp. A futile effort.

As he turned to leave Arthur called to him. “Akio…”

A thick mist began to permeate throughout the onsen. Akio remained as he was, his back to Arthur. For now. Though the thrum of the human’s pulse surged like a rapid tide and his heartbeat was a thunderous drum, no man could resist the lure of a siren melody. A song that would send anyone into a trance, helplessly compelled.

_“ Uchi ni oide … _

_come to me..”_

As Akio turned towards him Arthur danced gently in the spring waters, his hands caressing his bare form. Over breasts partially covered with dark tresses, the curvature of his neck as he tilted his head, the rhythmic swaying of his hips, glancing over his soft sex. He knew well the motions of his body would bring any man into his torrent. Water fell like blood over him, his voice quivered with a fragility he did not feel, beckoning Akio to move closer.

_“Feel me... uchi ni oide… _

_...come to me.”_

The tip of his claws dragged softly over his moist lips. Arthur rolled his hips, sloshing water about, feeling hot. Hungry. He reached his arm out, curling his hand and fingers toward himself, his eyes half mast. A gesture of summons, a promise of pleasure never to be found elsewhere.

 _“_ _ Sā…” _

Akio did not deny him. His footsteps were heavy, coming closer, closer, until the large swell of his belly pressed against the onsen rocks. Arthur ran his claws over short hair, round cheeks, cupping Akio’s chin to tilt his head upwards. Indulgently he licked over thin mouth before pressing their lips together, moaning as he filled the human’s mouth with his venom. Large hands took ahold of his hips, not to pull away but to draw him in further. And Arthur responded by grasping Akio’s shoulders, dragging him into the spring.

The last movements the human made were in compliance, lifting his legs over the rocks, before the venom took full effect. As he sniffed along Akio’s jaw down to the pulse point on his neck, Arthur’s eyes were not focused on his prey but further behind them, where the doors to the onsen were sliding shut and a glimpse of Saito could be seen.

 

*

 

“This union will be greatly beneficial to your side.” Fujioka grinned, far too smug. “You’ve witnessed yourself how fair the women and boys in service are.”

Saito hummed noncommittally. “Indeed.”

Fujioka Masaru was older than him by two decades, but as a shateigashira in their _ninkyō dantai_ he would always be subordinate in relation to Saito’s position as wakagashira. Nevertheless, the respect to which Saito had worked his way up the syndicate- had earned, was not always immediately given by Fujioka. A proud man who no doubt saw Saito’s appointment by their _kumicho_ and their age difference as a reflecting on a lack of consideration given to his more senior length of loyalty and service.

Fujioka went on. “And there could be no finer a place for this to occur than your villa…”

_“It is a shame it has come to this.” Saito mused, his face unmoved as Fujioka laid his left hand down on a cloth. Watching him take up his tanto, he noted quietly the tremble in his hand. He remained silent as the knife sliced through the tip of Fujioka’s smallest finger, just above his first knuckle._

_An act of penance for the severe tone he had taken with Saito when he proposed to compensate him for the loss of Haru’s services. Such generosity should have been accepted with open gratitude. It was done for Haru’s sake rather than Fujioka’s. A sign that his life did have value._

_Now save for the grunt of pain Fujioka made, the clatter of his tanto onto the table, there was no other sound in the room. Blood trickled down the wrinkles lining his mouth. Too proud to even fully display his pain. Saito nearly scoffed._

_Instead he stood tall, looming over Fujioka as he wrapped his severed finger in the cloth and, head bowed and down on his knees, graciously submitted the package to him._

_“Forgive me.”_

_Saito took the package, barely sparing it a glance as he handed it to Kenta. “I had expected far better from you. See to it that you remember where you fall in this family, and who is above you.”_

For all Fujioka knew, this evening Saito was being forced by their kumicho to set aside their tumultuous history and initiate him into their immediate hierarchy as a younger brother. A ploy to lower his defenses, as Saito had received the blessing from their leader to at last snuff out the insolent pest.

Gingerly he poured sake into Fujioka’s cup. Arrogance shone in those eyes, regardless of the fact that he remained subordinate to Saito. No doubt the wretch had ambitions of soon replacing him as a senior advisor. Saito sipped his sake, his expression carefully neutral. This was not the time to relish in his victory, not yet.

“Long have I looked forward to our separate organizations becoming affiliated.” Fujioka nodded towards him. “You have been such a frequent presence in Ueda-san’s territory of late…”

Saito did not bother to address the implication of encroachment. “Yes, this union was long in the making. I believe you will soon find that all the more fortunate, for in that time I have acquired a unique beauty.”

Daisuke and Hayate parted the fusumas, and Arthur entered slowly, his fingers lingering on the ornately decorated wood. His hair was wet and loose, as was the yellow kimono he wore, a tiger swimming through the sea on its fabric.  When he moved the long span of his bare leg was exposed in the shift of his clothes.

Fujioka’s eyes traveled from the bottom up as he gave Arthur a brief glance. He took another sip of his sake, his expression reserved and notably unimpressed. “I did not realize you were in the whore business as well Saito-san.”

Saito’s small smile remained in place, nothing in his reaction showcasing the ire that flared inside of him. Rather he hummed noncommittally as he poured more sake in Fujioka’s cup smoothly while Arthur sauntered towards him, his lips curled into a smirk. Which told him all he needed to know of the truth of Fujioka’s response. His interest was piqued.

“She is a rare delicacy,” He told Fujioka. “And kept mostly for myself, but on this day little brother, I offer her to you for your enjoyment.”

Fujioka’s arrogance betrayed him then. This time, when he watched Arthur sit beside him,  his gaze lingered and he sat up even taller. He allowed Arthur to hold his tea for him as he drank and clean his mouth with a small cloth.

“I would have her here,” Fujioka proclaimed, an outright dismissal of Saito in his own home. Lest he wish to stay and watch.

He did not allow the insult to stir him. Why rise to such bait, when his vengeance was mere moments in the making? Saito took a drink of his sake, “Go on,” he told him, then to Arthur. “Go slowly.”

The corner of Arthur’s lips curved, his smile drawn at the point of a blade. When Fujioka yanked him close by his waist he was plaint, near melting into the elderly man’s form. His lips were taken in a rough kiss and Saito looked on as Arthur’s tongue slipped into a lustful mouth. Anticipation rose within him at thin trails of venom that began to run down Fujioka’s chin. He watched as the old man’s movements gradually became sluggish, then at once halted.

Arthur drew back, moving Fujioka’s hands off his waist and hair. “It is done.” He told Saito as he pushed their prey down onto the floor. Fujioka’s eyes were blinking rapidly, staring up in alarm as Saito stood and soon loomed over him.

“Kumichō Himura was most generous to allow me the privilege of ending your life myself. It is time for your region to have a new shateigashira and Himura-sama is not of a mind to wait for you to die, ” Saito tilted his head, watching Arthur’s claws trail down Fujioka’s flank. He smiled. “I will not lie to you, little brother, this has been on my mind for some time. We’ve a mutual acquaintance you see, Haru Kagome, whose death calls for more justice than me placing yen in your hands. Tonight you will answer for his years of enslavement to you.”

He stomped his foot down on Fujioka’s groin, enjoying the widening of his pupils in pain. Arthur watched him avidly, his own smile sharply pointed and streaked with black venom. Saito took ahold of Fujioka’s right arm, holding it outstretched. Then slowly, savoring each frantic blink of those eyes, he bent it over his knee. Gradually adding pressure as he pushed down, until a sickening, satisfying crack echoed in the room. Arthur inhaled sharply, lips parted while Saito gazed at the tears welling in Fujioka’s eyes without sympathy.

“Painful, isn’t it?” He circled Fujioka, taking his left arm in hand. “I have seen the marks you’d leave on Haru when he did not bring in a profit that sufficed you.” Saito was equally slow about breaking the left arm.

Arthur’s hand travelled up his back, he pressed himself flush against Saito’s leg, biting gently on his hip. He could feel his hardness pressing against his ankle. The eroticism of the moment was exquisite. Saito touched his bottom lip briefly, then accepted Fujioka’s left leg when Arthur lifted it up for him. It too was broken, as was the right leg.

Arthur licked a trail of tears coursing from Fujioka’s eyes. By now the pain this waste of flesh felt had to be immense and Saito looked upon his crippled body with great satisfaction.

“May I now?” Arthur asked, his fangs on full display.

Saito resumed his seat, pouring the last of the sake into his own cup. “Yes, from the feet upward.” He told Arthur, downing his drink.

 

*

 

For all Arthur’s presence made Eames’ time in Japan immeasurably more bearable he nonetheless had been anticipating news from his superiors. It was the first day of July, well past the transition from spring into summer. With that seasonal change, Eames felt a shift in his own priorities. His recall felt more and more imminent, and he was determined not to leave the shores of this land unaccompanied.

As such he’d been enjoying his time with Arthur, now that earlier matters were settled between them. Drawing out further details about his vetsalka, sharing some of his own in kind. He learned English and Japanese was one of four languages Arthur spoke, the others being Polish and Portuguese. There were so many waters he’d traveled through before coming here, and many more he longed to swim through.

Which of course fueled more curiosity in Eames. “You’ve lived for so long darling, seen so many places I’ve only been able to entertain visiting. I imagine the good Minister and I can’t have been the first to hold your fancy...”

From his seat beside Eames at Saito’s dining table Arthur leaned forward, eyes sharp. “Is this about mating?”

“Well, generally yes.”

For a moment Arthur appeared downright sheepish. “Among my kind I’m a youngling Eames. Vetsalkas aren’t regarded as reaching full adulthood until they mate with another vetsalka. You and Daichi are the only mates I’ve ever had.”

Eames mused silently, remembering all too well the Arthur’s arrival in the villa and the following days, with the sound of his and Minister Saito’s fucking filling every which hall.

“So _he_ introduced you to the pleasures of flesh.” He muttered, idly running his fingers over the table. “Little surprise that you soon were in need of different company.”

Arthur came up beside him, taking ahold of Eames’ hand, moving so that he stood between the table and Eames. He kissed the corner of Eames’ mouth, where the quirk of a frown had formed.

“Will you two ever think better of one another?” Arthur asked, running a claw over one of Eames’ suspender straps. The garment appeared to intrigue him greatly, several times he pulled the strap and watched it snap back against Eames’ chest.

Eames licked his lips. “That’s doubtful darling.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“How so?”

“When we mated together, having you both inside me was akin to ecstasy,” Arthur petted Eames’ exposed chest hair with a sigh. “I’ve wondered if it must only happen once.”

It took a momentous display of effort for Eames not stutter and freeze up over that proposition. His neck felt hot regardless and he quickly lifted Arthur up and set him on the table, desperate for an immediate distraction.

Arthur sighed again as Eames kissed his neck, hissing in pleasure when he was bit. His claws shortened and he ran them gently through Eames’ hair, scratched at his back with equally light pressure. Eames could feel his hardness pressing up through his kimono, digging into his stomach. He tugged the sash around Arthur’s waist loose enough for those bottom folds to part easily with his legs, moaning at the first glimpse of Arthur’s exposed flesh.

His cock appeared just as tempting and downright delicious as it usually did, his darker foreskin pulled back behind his flushed crown. Eames kissed his way down Arthur’s neck, between the clothed valley of his breasts, over his stomach until he lowered himself to his knees, pushing Arthur’s legs wider apart.

Arthur’s breath quickened, he leaned back on his elbows, cupping his breasts with both hands as he watched Eames mouth up the curve of his cock, holding Arthur’s stare as he took him into his mouth.

Eames could count the list of individuals he’d describe as past lovers on one hand but he was by no means inexperienced. He’d longed since realized how men fell apart at the touch and sight of his mouth around their cocks. In this regard, Arthur was not unlike a human. Intrigued and hungry for more of the salty slick Arthur’s prick wept into his mouth, Eames refused to relinquish his hold on that flesh.

Suckling with a gradual build of pressure, his tongue swirled along the fold of foreskin, flickered over the slit. Coaxed more pre-come out. Under his hand Arthur’s belly trembled, one of his legs fell over Eames’ shoulder.

A sleek wisp of Arthur’s kimono tickled Eames’ arm, made him shudder. Arthur was gasping quietly, his hips rocking in gentle and surprisingly steady rhythm with the bobbing of Eames’ head. _Like riding a wave_ , Eames thought, finding himself unbearably aroused at the very thought. He moved a hand further up Arthur’s abdomen, tugging fabric aside to bare his breasts. Taking Arthur further into his mouth, Eames clenched his hand around one of those delectably soft tits. Tweaked a nipple between his fingers, chuckling when he felt Arthur arch into the touch.

Eames kept his eyes on Arthur throughout. How could he not, the picture his vetsalka made was exquisite. Splayed out decadently on polished wood, the folds of his kimono pulled open to reveal his pale skin, pinking as a flush spread over him. His hair was a dripping mess, streaking haphazardly on Arthur’s body and clothing. And he was watching Eames with a half-lidded gaze, lips parted, one hand on the back of Eames’ neck the other stroking over his own body.

Eames let his cock go reluctantly to say, “Don’t hold back darling, I want to taste you.” Then he was diving back in, taking Arthur far enough for his prick to slip into his throat. Arthur made a hiccupped, sobbing noise, his thighs quivering. Eames felt Arthur push his chest up, rock his hips faster, the movement now desperate but somehow still evenly coordinated. It made Eames’ own cock throb inside his breeches and he palmed it momentarily, groaning around Arthur’s length.

There was little warning when Arthur came save for a soft, almost surprised gasp. Eames swallowed the first spurt then pulled off, stroking Arthur through his orgasm and lapping at his cockhead. His come was thick, clear and hot around Eames’ fingers and delicious on his tongue. It tasted like rainfall.

He didn’t hide his proud grin as he stood, watching Arthur pant up at him. At once Arthur grabbed him, tearing Eames’ suspenders as he pulled him down. Eames laughed, utterly delighted, brushing hair out of Arthur’s face as he kissed him. Their kiss was urgent, Eames licking into Arthur’s mouth, groaning when his own lips were nipped. He tasted that distinctive flavor of Arthur’s venom intermingling with the come on his lips but it only made Eames feel hotter, enough to burn.

Arthur was writhing beneath him, arching up off the table. His softened cock rubbed against Eames’ clothed prick. Without breaking their kiss Eames scrambled to undo his slacks, shoving them down past his knees.

It was Arthur who got them down on the floor, his mouth latched onto Eames’ neck, licking at his skin with a heat that had Eames shoving his kimono up and palming his arse. The drag of Arthur’s breasts over his chest hair brought forth a growl so deep Eames wasn’t sure he’d made himself at first. For a time they merely laid there beside the table, pushing and arching against one another.

Their fucking was loud, obscene. Eames reveled in it. Arthur seemed unable to utter more than harsh pants and sobs, his claws scraping at the wooden flooring. His quim felt like a vice around Eames’ prick, pulling precum from Eames with each sharp convulsion.

When Arthur came Eames squeezed his tit hard enough to bruise, shouting as his own orgasm was dragged out of him by Arthur’s tightening channel. He moaned at the thought of his seed leaking from Arthur’s hidden cunt out into his arse, filling Arthur up beyond his limit. He did not realize he’d been chanting Arthur’s name out like a prayer until his throat felt dry.

Sprawling out on the floor, Eames smiled as Arthur followed him down, lying on top of him. The weight of his body felt more a comforting pressure than a burden and Eames lost himself for a time. Pressing gentle kisses over Arthur’s lips, he ran his fingers through that gorgeous, sensually wet hair of his. Their noses bumped together, the space between their mouths small and yet still too vast.

“Aidan Bairre,” Eames whispered, feeling as though the walls themselves might overhear. “That’s my real name. And my brothers are Bran, Conleth, Cillian, Daley, Domhnall, and Eamon. My sisters are Myrna and Noreen. My mother is Oona.”

Arthur touched his face, fingertips dancing along his beard. His eyes were soft. “Apolonia was my mother’s name. Many merfolk never take a name, but she kept hers.”

Eames kissed Arthur’s fingers. “My family, they’d fall in love with you darling. I just know it.”

“How?”

“You’re beautiful, spirited,” Eames cupped Arthur’s face, thumbs stroking over his cheeks. “A right condescending arse sometimes, and strong. You have a way about you that hooks one’s heart, drags it under.”

A lovely flush colored Arthur’s cheeks. “Years from now, you may have a human mate and I will be a distant memory…”

“No. You strike me as one not easy to forget Arthur. I know…,” Eames’ voice grew softer, hesitant, “I will have you in my memory for years. Perhaps when my last rites are read it shall be your name darling; as the last words I utter. There has never been a Lord heavy in my life.”

In a heartbeat Arthur’s face crumbled; pain etching his features. Eames’ knew his hand was gentler tracing the strands of his hair  than they’d ever been on the bare form of a lover.

“Do not say that to me,” Arthur said, “Eames, don’t give me these spoken words your eyes scream out to me.”

Eames brushed his knuckles over Arthur’s cheeks.“Do you read my eyes so well?”

“I know what they say when you look at me. You wish to have me; always. It is impossible Eames.”

Air pushed out of his throat. Arthur might has well of dealt him a physical blow.

“Why,” Eames would later be appalled at the tremor in his voice, “Why are you so certain? Is it impossible? Or just bloody difficult?”

Arthur’s hands cupped his, bringing Eames’ journey over smooth skin to an end. “I cannot stay on land forever Eames; it’s not in my nature. I belong to another.”

“The sea?”

Arthur nodded. “Has been my only constant. That is how it’s been and how it shall remain.”

“Come with me then,” Eames held Arthur’s face in his hands. “Come back to Ireland with me, we’ll get a home right beside the shores, and when you need to venture into the ocean it will only be a heartbeat away.”

He watched the myriad of emotions flash in Arthur’s eyes. His vetsalka sighed, shaking his head. “I cannot abandon Daichi. He is a part of my soul.”

Because even then Eames could not bring himself to utter those words, that phrase only ever spoken to one other person in his life, he kissed Arthur deeply. In his mouth was a declaration: _I love you_. Yet when he drew back to speak, his words were a question. “Am I not as well?”

Arthur touched his cheek, a gentle expression in his eyes. “Yes.”

 

*

 

Given the current circumstances, this was a day Saito ought to have been moving through with a sense of enjoyment.

Earlier he’d received word that Captain Eames’ presence here was no longer necessary. A ship had been dispatched from China that would sheperd him back to where he belonged in three days. As he had predicted, his patience had been rewarded. Yet this victory was a minor topic on his mind.

Kaori had sent word that she would be coming to speak with him on an urgent matter. Abrupt visits such as these were usually a sign that there was trouble afoot.

And so Saito prepared himself for her arrival as though he were armoring himself in steel. To withstand any blow he was dealt.

When she arrived there was a light rainfall that followed her. Kaori’s gaze was particularly piercing as he led her to the library, and that did not bode well for whatever she’d come to discuss.

“Sister,” Saito began as they sat down, pouring her tea he’d had brewed for her arrival. “Clearly there is ill news afoot?”

Kaori sipped quicker than usual. “You’re correct. But how ill depends on you Daichi.” She did not wait for his response before continuing. “You are aware that Himura-sama’s saiko komon, Akiyama-sama’s, youngest son has recently passed from fever?”

“Of course.”

“He had another son it seems, fathered with a prostitute from one of the hamlet villages.” Kaori grimaced as she set her cup down. “This boy was very young Daichi and was no longer accounted for by his mother when Akiyama went to collect him. I’m told he questioned her quite aggressively to find out what might have become of him.”

Sold to a middleman who delivered him to one of his guards, more than likely these days. He’d made it his business to collect the secrets of those he worked with yet never once had he heard talk of Akiyama fathering an illegitimate child, for kabuki performers tended to hold more of his fancy. This was a damnable oversight. Saito tried his best to control his expression, let no inkling slip through. So this was his sister’s motivations for being here.

“Daichi, it's been some time since you’ve required my businesses use.” Kaori continued. “Fujioka is gone. Why would Akiyama have reason to suspect you of taking this child?”

So it was done then. Akiyama suspected him of having taken his child and he must be furthering his investigation if Kaori had picked up on it. Saito sat back, tense as he contemplated.

“Fujioka often purchased young boys and girls to train as _yūjo_ to work his pleasure quarters.”  He said. Apart from the first boy he’d acquired, all the children he’d given to Arthur were the appropriate age for it to be more feasible that Fujioka had taken them rather than Saito himself.

Yet even as he lied Saito felt as if stones were being placed atop him.

“I’m aware of that.” Kaori did not sound convinced however. “I sent servants looking for the boy in Fujioka’s territory.”

“To no avail?”

Kaori traced her fingertip around the ring of her cup. She was not a woman easily deceived. “None at all. The boy is young enough he would still require nursing, but they had only girls.”

“Younglings catch sickness so easily,” Saito was careful not to sound condescending. “It is possible that the boy died and now they’re trying to conceal involvement.”

His sister had given birth to three children, and her expression told Saito she was nearly offended enough to remind him of such. “That does not explain why Akiyama has focused on you brother.”

Indeed it did not. The weight on his shoulders grew heavier, and Saito recognized it then for what it was: guilt. His sister was of the Shinto faith and these killings were an act of near irreparable damnation. So willing had Saito been to cast himself further into the darkness for the sake of keeping Arthur beside him, but his actions weren’t supposed to affect his family.  For it was his duty to protect and cherish his them, an irreplaceable gift. Yet he had failed.

Just as he had with Mao.

The gravity of his failure to protect those he cherished in his pursuit to keep his aijin close consumed Saito. He rose, intent to turn away, but Kaori grabbed him the sleeve.

“Don’t walk away from me! You’ll keep no secrets between us.” Kaori said. Looking into her eyes, Saito saw a resolve that so often matched or surpassed his own. “Just tell me, did you take the boy?"

Saito exhaled softly, then quietly confessed. “Yes,” Clear as if it were happening before him, Saito pictured the moments in which he served all those boys to Arthur. “And he fell ill.”

“This makes no sense.” Kaori said. “Why would you buy him?”

“For my water lily. She longed for a child for us to raise but cannot bear one herself.”

“Damn you!” Kaori sneered, delivering a burning slap to his face. But there was more frustration than pure rage. The loss of his son with Mao was a subject he and her rarely spoke on. He could see that even in her anger, she felt sympathy for him.

They stood in silence then, Saito feeling the tension shift, as if a knife had been withdrawn from flesh, leaving only a bleeding wound behind. Kaori shook her head in disbelief. “Daichi, I know how great the loss you bore was.” She took Saito’s face into her hands.“But this...that child’s death has sullied our family's honor. All for the sake of lust.”

Saito shook his head feverently. “It was not for lust sister, but for love. I have found someone who moves me as the waters move ships at sea. ” He thought of her affair with Kenta, how even today she wore a kimono colored deep purple, nearly black in secret mourning of his death Saito had told her was by Fujioka’s hand. “Can you understand what it feels like, to have your heart seized in such a manner?”

Kaori briefly looked away, before her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps. But I have never had the luxury of choosing to act on my desires in a manner that disregarded my family.” She shut her eyes tightly, and for the first time her voice trembled.  “You must atone for this Daichi, or else be condemned to burn. Do you understand what that means? What it calls for?”

Death, to repent for an innocent life stolen. It would cleanse him for the next realm, and satisfy Akiyama’s rage in this life, for he held Kaori in too high regard to seek revenge against her. She was his eldest son’s wife after all, the mother of his beloved grandsons. Indeed Saito knew, felt crushed under the weight of what his sister was demanding he do. And he knew it was not only for the sake of herself and her children, but for his own sake. In the tremor of her voice he heard the wounded words: _You were all I had left, and now you must leave me just as mother and father had_.

And in doing so, he must leave Arthur as well.

Saito straightened himself, wiping at his cheeks. Now was not the time for him to mourn himself and all he stood to lose. He must be the anchor once more. Gently Saito guided them both back down to their seats, keeping ahold of Kaori’s hands. “I know what I must do.”

Kaori gave a solemn nod, not speaking at first. “Do you remember how father used to give us rides in his boat on Arakawa?” She asked quietly. “I wanted to catch a fish so badly I fell in the water, you pulled me out then jumped in to catch a fish for me. Father was furious. Neither of us could swim.”

Saito laughed softly. “Mother always said we behaved as if we shared a womb, never mind the differences in our ages. Our hearts have always beat with ambition.” He touched her cheek with a careful tenderness. “That is why I will leave this villa to you, and all my possessions. _You_ are the future of our family sister.”

Kaori swallowed hard, her eyes brimming with unshed tears as she nodded. They both stared at their joined hands, in equal parts comforting one another. Hands that had grown in shadows and quiet tribulations, were stained with blood. “I will put you to rest with the dignity you deserve brother.”

  


*

  


“These are beautiful.” Arthur brushed his fingers over the largest chank, held in a reverent grip. As though in rapture he brought the shell to his lips, a chaste kiss, then gently ran his tongue over its colored swirls of white and orange. “You can still taste ocean salt on this one.” He whispered.

Beside him Saito let his own fingers sprawl over strands of freshly wet hair clinging to Arthur’s shoulder and arm. Arthur set the chank back in its glass bowl and nuzzled his face into the curve of Saito’s neck, lapping at each trail of sweat still spreading over his skin. The lengthy span of his bare frame, the soft weight of his breasts was an ever inviting pressure on Saito’s form, even as his chest heaved from the enthusiasm of their last embrace.

Nimble, sharply tipped fingers rubbed over his lips. “I feel as if I could spend over a thousand nights like this. With you alongside me, inside me. If another part of my soul did not beg me to go elsewhere. Even then, I no longer wish to tread in waters far from you.” Arthur said, fearfully quiet and laced with a longing Saito knew well. He soothed him as best he could through touch, one hand petting through tangled hair, the other drawing invisible lines of calligraphy on Arthur’s back. Words of passionate devotion, of affection Saito burned with for this creature. Humming low, he was tender as his oath sprawled along strong shoulder blades, fell down the curve of Arthur’s spine.

When his declaration was complete Saito took Arthur’s face in his hands. Kissed him slow, deep and spoke the words he’d written so none save for Arthur and himself would recall them. “You rest beneath my bones. There is no separating you without fracturing myself.”

“You are the first I’ve ever laid with, be it on land or sea.” Arthur slowly kissed each of Saito’s fingers, cradling his hand as if it were a treasure. “ _ Mój księżyc _, no light in the evening sky shines brighter than your own. Please, do not ask me to leave.”

“You must,” Saito was firm in his resolve. “For your safety here with me is no longer assured.” Now that he had tasted a passion men wrote odes celebrating, how could he spend his coming nights deprived of such adoration? He would not.

Arthur knew not all of the dangers now facing Saito, he’d been careful of what he told him. Just enough to help convince him to go with Captain Eames.

“May I see your teeth? Your true teeth, aijin.” Saito gently coaxed. Arthur stared at him quiet reluctance, then, with Saito’s thumb caressing his lower lip, he allowed his vetsalka teeth, the rows of fangs he naturally possessed, to untuck themselves from his gums. Inside, his mouth blackened, slick with venom. Unafraid, Saito held Arthur’s gaze as he traced his forefinger along the incisors, deliberately nicking the fingertip.

He slipped the bleeding finger further into Arthur’s mouth, allowed him to seal his lips around the flesh. “When I asked you to venture outside the waters, I knew the potential risks were immense.” Saito took a shuddering breath, watching Arthur’s eyelids drop as he sucked the blood from his finger. A curling sensation of euphoria wove through him. “But I chose to take a leap of faith as I knew, deeply, that letting the opportunity pass might result in its echo following me for ages. Until I grew old, filled with regret for what could have been.

Saito withdrew his finger and, as Arthur’s lips remained parted and he craned his head up after him, brought their mouths together. He licked into Arthur without hesitation, feeling only a swell of warmth, a torrent of passion as he stained his mouth with dark venom, cut his lips on Arthur’s teeth. Arthur moaned as if he himself were wounded, cupping the back of Saito’s neck with his hand, shivering against him.

“I hold no regrets for seeking you.” Saito said, only pulling back as far as he needed to speak. “So I ask you now, will you take this leap of faith for me?”

Arthur pressed their foreheads together, shut his eyes for a moment. His hands moved, tracing over Saito’s face. A fingertip dancing along his brow, palms stroking past his cheeks, all the while Arthur took deep inhales of air. Saito imagined he wished to imprint the texture, the fragrance of his lover into his skin and senses. Slowly Arthur opened his eyes, nodded once, and moved to straddle Saito. Never breaking their gaze. A gasp slipped past Saito’s lips when Arthur took his hardness in hand, guided it inside himself. He felt the cold waves of Arthur’s wet hair fall around their faces. Felt Arthur pant, hot and desperate against his mouth.

“ _H-Hai_ ,” Arthur wept, quivering with pleasure. “Yes, I will go with him.”

 

*

 

“At least they had the good sense to send an ocean liner. And a First Class room at that.”

Arthur couldn’t recall seeing Eames quite so high-spirited before as a massive ship docked at the port. He was less enthused, lingering further back with Saito.

“I wish this did not have to happen,” Arthur spoke quietly. “I want things to remain as they were.”

Saito kissed his hand, “This is the nature of longing. I have always known there may come a time when I could not hold you. You’d slip through my grasp surely as the wind.”

Eyes clenched shut Arthur made a soft, wounded sound when Saito kissed both his eyelids. Tender, there was such an unending amount of tenderness held on his lips. When he began to draw away Arthur lurched forward, took Saito’s face in his hands and pressed their mouths together. With his tongue he committed the taste, texture of Saito to memory. How he stood so motionless yet so alive, electric energy pulsing within him. His mouth tasted like a soothing lake beginning to stir.

“I will come back in autumn, then return to Eames in spring. And every day, from the moment I am on this ship and onward,” Arthur whispered into his ear, “I will write you. Please, Daichi, _please_ wait for my word and grant me yours in return.”

Saito stroked through his hair. “You rest beneath my bones, remember? Know that I shall lie within yours Arthur.”

They parted then, slowly, Arthur felt Eames take his hand.

“I came here fleeing.” Eames said as he turned towards him. “Thought this country would be my shelter. Arthur; darling, I never expected my shelter to be you. For one person to be a truth that wouldn’t allow me to run away from it.”

He wiped the tears from Arthur’s eyes so gently it drew a smile from him. For a moment, as he looked down at their hands he felt peace.

Even so the ties of loss continued to pull at him.

 

*

 

Aboard their towering vessel, Arthur watched the ocean waters raft against its boughs as slowly the islands of Japan grew more and more distant in the night view. Arms wrapped round his waist, he tasted the kindling air of an oncoming storm on the horizon. Already there was rainfall.

It barely weighed on his mind. Rather his thoughts were heavy on the moment of his departure. On his the words he’d exchanged with his mate. How Saito’s words had sounded like a final farewell. The urge to cast himself from this ship, plunge into the ocean waters and return to him was powerful.

And yet, his heart yearned for Eames as well.

Rain fell more heavily as he softly sang, “ _May happiness attend him wherever he may go. From Tower Hill to Blackwall, I’ll wander, weep and moan. All for my jolly sailor, until he sails home._ ”

Singing was the only way he could expression the confliction inside of him. But Arthur quieted, sensing Eames coming towards him.

“It rains often in London, shouldn’t have any trouble keeping your hair wet.” Eames put his arm around Arthur’s waist. “We’ll only be there for a few days. Long enough for me to collect the pay I’m owed. Oh, they’ll give me a new assignment, but I’ve no plans of taking it on. I’m going home with you.”

Home. The sea had always felt like his sole home, until he walked through the halls of Daichi’s villa. Until he laid in Eames’ arms for an evening.

 _“My heart is pierced by cupid,_ ” Arthur leaned into Eames as he sang. “ _I disdain all glitter and gold. There is nothing can console me, but my jolly sailor bold.”_

Eames kissed his temple. “There are a great number of sea shanties I’d enjoy hearing you sing.”

“In time, you will.” Even as he spoke, Arthur’s voice trembled with unease. For they were not alone on this journey anymore.

He felt them in the changing tides, restless spirits. Not merfolk, but kindred of the seas nonetheless. Arthur ceased his song, for no doubt they had been drawn by his voice. And now the war within his heart was stirring them into a vengeful fervor. Not only them, but other, far larger creatures of the sea.

“Let’s go lie down.” Arthur urged Eames, drawing him away from the oncoming storm.

 

*

 

Stroking his fingers through the loose, wet strands of Arthur’s hair made Eames sigh in contentment. Already he was picturing all the days to come where they could be as they were now, lying in bed, entangled with one another.

“When you’re swimming along Irish coastline,” He murmured. “I can be in the ocean right beside you. You can even help me catch fish.”

Arthur hugged him tighter. “I will enjoy that very much.”

Another clash of thunder rang out, the storm only growing more violent as the night wore on. Surprisingly it seemed to unsettle Arthur. In all the time he’d known his vetsalka, he had never fret over a storm. Eames couldn’t help but feel a pang of unease as well, but it was overcome by the warmth he felt in Arthur’s arms.

He turned when he heard a long, mournful sound. Inhuman, but alluring. Eames looked out his window.

“Blue whales.” He said, in awe of the their size.

With each fleeting shard of illumination brought on by the lightning, he saw their massive shadows in the tides. They were swimming perilously close to their ship.

No sooner had that thought crossed his mind, then he was flung from their bed onto the floor. The ship had been hit, hard enough to push it towards the left with extreme force. Eames’ startled at the sound it made, that distinctive grate of metal yielding, _tearing_.

He reached for Arthur’s hand where he too had fallen. “You alright?” Eames asked as he pulled them both up.

“No. Eames, I’m sorry.” There was a tremble in Arthur’s voice. “This is all my fault.”

Eames shook his head frowning. “There’s no need to talk like that-”

“You don’t understand. My singing, I felt compelled to...merfolk songs can alter the sea tides.”

Understanding dawned on Eames at the same moment he heard passengers running through the halls. A sizable crowd from the sounds of it, shouting over one another, arguing with crew members. The boat was still tilting to the left enough for the room to be slanted.

Although the commotion did not recede, Eames waited until he heard the clamour of barred doors being shut before making any move. “We have to get to the deck.” He took ahold of Arthur’s hand. “They’ll have lifeboats.”

They stumbled out of their room, ignoring the frantic cries of those who were barred from entering the first class- and any chance of escape. The ship kept rocking towards the left, making them collide with room doors and walls as they struggled to reach the door leading to the deck.

Eames had to shove the door open, making two men fall down. He maneuvered Arthur so that he was in front of him, and guided them over to the railing. Dread was seeping throughout his body. This was no ordinary storm.

The deck was filled with passengers, all attempting to converge on the lifeboats only be propelled back by armed crew members.

“You can’t disembark from the ship!” One of them yelled, “It’s too dangerous, get back to your rooms!” He shoved back a few men that ventured to close.

“What the hell is that going to do?”Another person shouted. “There’s water coming in! The ship is sinking!”

Their protests were met the crack of a warning shot, fired into the air. A near collective gasp rang out in the crowd but not more than a moment later they continued to try and surge forward, the threat of gunfire no match for the fear of being lost at sea when lifeboats were hanging right in view. Their collective panic and confusion was palpable.

Even the sea itself appeared to be in agony, its currents spun with a fierce velocity. The wind roared mightier than feral beasts of Irish folktales Eames had been reared on. He knew all too well the sea was a creature more deadly and untameable than any monster thought to live on land. And now it had set its wrath upon them.

The tides were churning into a multitude of conflicting currents cycling westward. Foam was rising from the waters, spreading further and further outward. At the center of this chaos emerged a large, engulfing funnel, its whirling speed so rapid one could easily become ill lingering on the sight. Their vessel continued to be dragged in its direction. Eames looked to Arthur, his heart pounding. For he knew what this was, had heard the tales of Scottish sailors who’d ventured through The Corryvreckan.

They were caught in the grip of a maelstrom.

“We have to get back inside!” Eames cried out to Arthur

They clung to one another as the boat rocked, sending them colliding with the masses who’d emerged. Many were slipping on the deck, trying to stand in all the commotion. Other passengers were still shoving at one another in an attempt to get closer to the lifeboats. But the roaring of the tides overwhelmed even their screams and pleas.

Arthur pressed them closer together. “Eames,” He said, frantic. “We have to get off the ship, it isn’t safe here!”

Eames knew at once the intent in those words. Arthur wanted them to jump overboard.

Still grasping the railing, Eames could do nothing to shield his face from the pouring rain. Water filled his mouth each time he opened it to speak and he could not hear his own voice over the roar of the maelstrom, the shrieking cries of those wretched sea spirits and the thunder noise of rain hitting the ship. “It won’t be any safer for me in there Arthur! The tides are too strong, I’ll drown even if you’re holding me!”

He couldn’t see if Arthur nodded in agreement, but as Eames began to try and move them away from the crowd, he followed without protest. “Bloody fuck.” Eames cursed when his attempts at barreling through the swarm resulted in panicked passengers only shoving them further back. “Move, damn you!” Like watching a pot boil longer than intended, he knew they had only a brief window before all hell was unleashed-

A series of gunshots, their cracks more frightening than the lightning rang all around them seemingly. Sharp, burning pain flared in Eames’ back. Arthur turned to face him, stricken, grabbing his face. Whatever words he first spoke were muted, swallowed up in the haze of fire engulfing Eames. His vision spun, the ship and world itself teetering off its axis.

“No!” He heard Arthur cry out then, and realized he had fallen down against the railing. Eames groaned, he’d taken more than one bullet, could feel his blood pouring out of the wounds and no longer felt his legs.

Arthur held his face, stroking his cheeks with trembling fingers. “Eames- _Aidan_ , please no. Hold on, you have to hold on.”

“ ‘s okay….it’s okay...Hold me,” Eames whispered, his fingers slipping as he embraced Arthur’s, “ k-keep looking at me darling. You’re all I want to see…”

Arthur sobbed, but pressed their foreheads together. Eames began to drown, caught in a vast sea of gold  and blue eyes, black seeping in all around the edges. The way Arthur said his name, his real name was gentler than the softest breeze.

Eames lost himself in the arms of his love, perhaps for the last time.

 

*

 

When the vessel that had carried them was swallowed by the maelstrom, the majestic whales battered it further in their attempts to escape from the circling tide. Through the mighty roar of the sea, the screams of humans being swept away, the ship crushed and torn apart Arthur held Eames, let himself shift into full form.

“Aidan,” Arthur whispered, stroking Eames’ cheek. “Aidan, stay with me.”

He still heard the faint ebbings of Eames’ pulse. It compelled him to swim against the whirlpool with all his might. Arthur’s tail thrashed in the effort, his roar a call to the sea spirits to spare them from their wrath. They paid no heed to the pleas of mere mortal men, but for him they obliged and Arthur swam away from the chaos fast as he could.

“I won’t surrender you Aidan. _Never._ ” Arthur swore, Eames still held firmly in his grasp. “You are mine. From now, until my end.”

He raised his voice then, in song. To Eames the sound would register as a deep hum, soothing. For all other inhabitants of the ocean however, it served as a clear warning aimed at carnivorous beasts.

Thirty leagues away from the wreckage and the sound of Eames' pulse fell silent.

Arthur's melody grew higher; fever pitched. The signal of an oncoming frenzy. Eames, he would be safe now.

Other predators, they would not have him.

Even the sea itself would not, _could not_ have him.

Only Arthur held claim to that right.

Heat blossomed in his veins; scales tightening as his nails elongated into claws. They punctured the ivory flesh of Eames' neck and lower abdomen. Red spilling out into the ocean. Gingerly, Arthur turned his lover round to face him. His ears still no longer heard a telltale pulse.

A man of steel and gunpowder, a soldier in his heart, Eames' body would be laid to rest at sea. Buried peacefully beneath the skin and sinews of Arthur. Who was the stream, salt of the ocean, the rain intermingling.  Eames would swim throughout every inch of him.

Arthur kissed those full, purple lips.

If there were any tears shed; they were lost in the water's frenetic current. Imperceptible.

He let his fangs extend.

 

*

 

Arthur’s muscles were strung tighter than the firmest bonds. No more than a day had passed since Eames’ death before he felt a sharp pang in his chest drawing him back to Japan. The sun would not set for several hours but all that hung in the evening sky was a solitary moon.

As he swam into Arakawa’s waters his heart pounded. Saito’s presence was a steady sensation now entwined with others. They coursed through the waters like a surging current, overwhelming Arthur. Pain...imminent death.

 _Not him as well_ , Arthur thought, _please he cannot leave me too_.

But he found him where they’d first encountered one another, along the riverbanks. Clothed in white. As he came upon him Arthur stared at the blade penetrating Saito’s abdomen in dismay, held in a weakening grip. A growing pool of red surrounded them.

“Why?” Arthur sobbed.

Saito appeared equally stricken by the sight of him. “You...shouldn’t have come back.”

“Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“My death was unavoidable.” Saito sighed. “Arthur…”

There was no time to ask what Saito meant. No time to be upset he’d not told him everything before requesting his leave. Memories flooded through him, beautiful like painting of their story Saito had done, yet all too soon dried up. Of the many times they'd lied together, souls bare. How much they had shared their love, and so much more left untold. This was a wound unlike any he’d experienced before. Arthur had no chance of saving Saito. This he could not deny. Yet there was still a gift he could bestow him. “Not like this. Let me help you.”

With a groan, near animalistic in its honest agony, Saito slumped against Arthur. He carried his weight without hesitation. A single strand of blood trailed from his mouth. Arthur caught the droplet with his lips, licking tenderly. His claws retracted, fingers gentle as they wove through Saito's hair. Lips stained red, he kissed his eyelids. "Release; I can take you there. I will; see you towards release from this life and ascension. Just ask me."

Arthur touched the organs spilling from Saito’s wound tenderly, feeling his love inhale and exhale against him. Breaths that were feeble, straining for the strength to speak. Saito, with his head resting on Arthur’s shoulder, and his lips pressed to his ear, at last spoke:

“ _Aijou_ …this time, take me with you.”

Pearls tumbled down their frames, dripping into the water as Arthur wept. Gently he took Saito’s face in his hands, pressed their foreheads together to voice his oath and farewell.

“You shall be a constant in all my wanderings.” Arthur said, his words swelling around a sob. “From now until my end.”

It was the parting Saito needed, he breathed his last in a sigh, tranquil as the waters around them. The river that Arthur pulled his body into, a dying embrace which flooded his heart, his soul crying out as he carried him towards release. As he swam away with his love, he knew his heart after this would be forever dry, cracked and refusing all nourishment.

 

*

 

From his place on Tategami rock Arthur held two hearts in his hands. Slick and beautiful, heavy as the weight of his grief, which could encompass the very sea he was surrounded by. One from Eames, the other from Saito. Humans who had touched his soul, made him yearn for a life lived on the shores in their presence. An impossible dream he now held the remnants of.

His tears were free-flowing, soaking each organ until both were encased in translucent pearls. This was how they would stay with him. Atop the rocks he sat on Arthur smashed both hearts atop his metal garment, shedding more tears to bind the shards into the chains.

“I will carry both of you with me,” He said as he slipped the garment back on. “From now until my end.”

Alone once more, there was no longer any point in denying his nature. A beast to man he had been born and one he would remain. But he could still honor the two men who had stirred such a passion within him. Their bloodlines carried on in this cruel world. Arthur alone had the power to give each of them the same release he’d shown Eames and Saito towards.

  
They could all be united, in the same realm. Yes, it would be his final act of devotion, of love.


	6. First Epilogue

Murky waters clash with wind and rising tides off the Irish coast while a boy tries to skip stones into the eye of the storm.   He is young enough to obey his father’s wishes of passing down the role of fisherman onto every son; old enough to feel echoes of his own dream occupation slipping bitterly through cracks and calluses forming on his hands.

There will be no lessons, no haul for him today; he’s not yet ready to venture out into a storm.

But he is defiant, foolhardy enough to follow the last of his stones out into more shallow water; boat and oars so aged they leave splinters with use. He feels older than each of them, letting tides drag him out just so much further, and then rowing out himself when he catches a glimpse of something. Of someone.

There is a woman partially submerged just outside of the shallower waters; lying back far enough her bare breasts are exposed. Two chains weave about her neck and chest; some kind of jewelry hanging from them.

She must be a prisoner. A captive left to drown. He rows harder, until his boat floats beside the woman. Her eyes are shut.

He has no idea how long she’s been stranded out here but waves and rainfall have not diminished her appearance. Head tilted back, black hair dipping into the water she is incomparably beautiful now, and he thinks she must be blinding dry and on the streets, the shores. The line of her jaw is strong, droplets tumble down sharp cheekbones.

The boy swallows and reaches out with one hand. He trembles from fingertip to shoulder and within a heartbeat the woman’s eyes are open, staring right at him.

They are strikingly contrasting colors, like mixed paintings on a canvas. Yellow. Blue.

When she speaks her voice is far deeper than he ever anticipated. The edges of her lips curl, into a smile.

“Hello Adam.”

Adam thinks, _I would love you more than God all his creations_ , as she pulls him from his boat into the unseen depths of sea.


	7. Final Epilogue

Lately Tadashi has taken to walking along the banks of Arakawa River. He is retracing the steps of his uncle’s story, painted out on beautiful scrolls Tadashi had caught a glimpse of. Of how a man from another world entered his heart and as his mother believes, took his uncle with him when he departed.

Over a year has gone by and although everyone believes his uncle to be dead, including Tadashi himself, no trace of his body has been found. Only a bloody komon found in the grassy riverbank has told his fate.

Along with his mother and father, he’s moved into Uncle Saito’s villa. Tadashi doesn’t really enjoy it there, it seems full of restless spirits yearning to be heard yet lacking a voice to speak with. Mornings like these, when he walks alone, he feels much more comfortable.

He’s just about to turn and head home when he spies someone through the fog. Someone in the river.

“Anata wa karedesu.” Tadashi whispers, even before he has a clear sight of him. He moves closer without hesitation. He’s wondered for months about this man, no way is he leaving now. There are too many questions he needs answered.

The man is as pretty as Uncle Saito painted him, strikingly odd-eyed. Tadashi feels his cheeks warm at the peeks of breasts he can see underneath chains and hair. Sitting down, he dips his feet in the water.

He opens his mouth to start with one, maybe three questions but the man silences him with a sudden kiss. No one has ever kissed Tadashi before, not like this at least. He freezes, unsure what what to do and almost doesn’t feel something sharp brush against his mouth.

As the man draws back, blood lingers on his lips. 

Wide-eyed, Tadashi jerks far too slow and ineffectively given the sheer panic welling inside him. And rather than pull away he finds himself falling forward, unable to reach his hands out and avoid contact. The man,  _ the creature _ , breaks his descent. Arms encircle his waist, serpentine and though there is startling tenderness in every touch, this beast is cold as ice. A scream surges, threatens to tear Tadashi apart from within yet he cannot open his mouth.

All throughout the creature sings phrases incomprehensible and overlapping, as if spoken in hundreds of voices. Lacing a deep comfort; the deep vowels curve through the tension encasing Tadashi until he’s no longer so tightly held his skin might rip.

"Anata wa watashi ni dareka o omoidasaseru..."

He dives and Tadashi falls with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would never have been able to finish this story without the help of my dear friend Bear. I am so grateful for all he contributed to it.


End file.
